


The Cure to Growing Older

by rosiedoesfic



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crushes, Friendship, Growing Up, Kids, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosiedoesfic/pseuds/rosiedoesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What-if AU. What if Joe had never moved to Ohio first?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure to Growing Older

**The Cure to Growing Older**  
_Like kisses on the necks of best friends._

 

The first time Patrick Stumph laid eyes on Joe Trohman, his eyes were pink and wet and he was holding He-Man by one leg as he was ushered over to Patrick's table and handed a purple crayon. He sat on the red plastic chair and gazed at the colouring implement with eyes that reminded Patrick's five year old self of Emma-May's blinking-action dolly; and his lip started to wobble.

For a moment, Patrick thought about putting up his hand and calling over Mrs Watson, but he didn't want to get the new boy in trouble. He tilted his head and looked at him sideways, wondering why he was sad. Maybe he didn't like purple. Patrick pulled over the plastic crayon basket and looked for another one. Maybe blue was better.

Carefully, he leaned off his chair and across the table and put down the crayon next to He-Man; then he dropped into his seat again and finished colouring a teddy bear bright orange. He liked orange. It reminded him of pumpkins. And carrots. But he didn't like carrots.

Across the table, the new boy sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his sweater. Then, he got off his chair and, dragging He-Man and his crayons with him, he walked around the table to sit next to Patrick, and started colouring in the tree on Patrick's picture blue. Patrick grinned and told him the leaves had to be pink.

\---

When Cathie Trohman's little boy ran out of kindergarten that day, trailing a tiny redheaded child with him, she thought that things in Winnetka might just be alright, after all. She and Richard had been so sure he was too young to have made any real friends in Florida, but he'd screamed and cried when they left and they'd put off enrolling him in a new kindergarten for a whole month in the hopes of getting him settled. When it didn't seem to work, they thought that changing tack may be the best thing, hoping that making friends with other children may be what he needed.

And judging by the enormous smile on his face as he scampered toward her, arms outstretched and a far cry from the teary mess he'd been when she left him that morning, they'd finally found something that worked.

"Patrick!"

Cathie looked up to see another woman hurrying across the schoolyard and scooping up Joseph's little friend into her arms, pinching his nose affectionately and scolding him for running off. The little boy was too busy stretching out for Joseph with both arms to do much more than wriggle away.

Picking up her own child and kissing his forehead, Cathie walked over to the other mother laughing. "Looks like my little man made a new friend today," she smiled, reaching out to pinch the little redheaded boy's cheek gently. 

"Mommy, hith name ith _Patwick_ ," Joe informed her, thumping his action figure against her shoulder, as if she was actually embarrassing him.

"Well, hello, Patrick. Pleased to meet you." She held out a hand for him to shake, but he turned away and buried his face in his mother's shoulder, peeking back at her shyly.

"He's very timid," his mother acknowledged, patting his back and smiling. "He doesn't really make many friends."

"HE'TH MY FWIEND!" Joe yelled gleefully and Patrick immediately lifted his head and giggled.

Both women laughed. 

"Well, it's just typical he picked a friend with a name he can't even say properly, yet," Cathie joked.

"Oh, he'll grow out of it – my eldest, Kevin, had a lisp for the first three years."

"Oh, well, Joseph has one of those too. So we really just call him 'Joe' most of the time."

Joe glared at her and put one hand over her mouth. "MOMMY!"

The other woman just laughed. "Well, I'm Patricia."

"Cathie. Cathie Trohman. We just moved from Florida – my husband's parents are getting older now, and this is his hometown, so..."

"Well, you take my number and we'll get together some time – the kids can play and we can have coffee."

Cathie was suddenly quite sure that Winnetka wasn't going to be so bad after all.

\---

Joe didn't understand why it had to be so long until he could go to kindergarten again. The idea of having to go to sleep first just seemed plain silly, and he sulked all evening before asking if he could go to sleep an hour earlier than his bedtime just so it would be tomorrow sooner.

He couldn't wait to get into the classroom the next morning, and ate his Froot Loops so quickly they didn't even have time to turn the milk pink.

Patrick was already sitting on the bean bags by Mrs Watson's desk, waiting for roll call, and when he saw Joe walk in he pushed the kid next to him until he moved, so Joe could sit with him. Joe stuck his tongue out at Matthew and made himself comfortable. 

At lunchtime they sat together, plastic carry cases on the child-sized picnic tables in front of them, and were rude to anyone who wanted to sit with them. Only people with blue lunchboxes were allowed at their table.

Joe looked at his little pink cupcake with the strawberry on top and thought for a minute. Then he picked it up and dropped it in Patrick's lunchbox with a grin. Patrick stared at it and then picked up the brown square of cake wrapped in plastic and dropped it in Joe's. Joe was a bit disappointed. It didn't look even nearly as exciting as his cupcake, but it tasted okay. Joe took a bite and gave it back. Patrick made him eat the other half of the cupcake.

Neither of them would ever eat their lunch to themselves again. Or, almost never.

\---

Patrick hated Saturdays. And Sundays, too. On Saturdays and Sundays he had to stay at home and play with _Kevin_ and Kevin was mean and didn't want to make rayguns out of stickle bricks. He spent all morning laying on the floor with his chin propped on his pudgy little hand, scowling at the dog, because all he did was chew his bricks and then wander off and fall asleep. The dog was a useless best friend.

Sitting at the kitchen table at lunch, he chewed on his cheese spread sandwich thoughtfully and asked, "Mommy, can we take the dog back to the shop and have a Joe instead?"

"No, sweetie," his mom laughed, wiping her hands on a towel and straightening his hair so that he shook his head wildly and messed it up again, "I don't think Joseph's mommy would like it very much if we took her little boy away, do you?"

Patrick shrugged and picked up one of the one-two-three- _four_ baby tomatoes rolling around his plate and stuck one whole in his mouth so that the juice squirted down his chin and made him giggle. 

"Okay," he said, as his mother wiped his face. "I want to go and live with Joe."

\---

Patricia smiled as she looked out of the kitchen window and saw the two little boys chasing the dog around the yard. It was so wonderful to see her child happy. He'd been so quiet most of his young life, but with the moment he'd met the curly-haired little Jewish boy he'd transformed. She was relieved beyond words that he finally seemed to be coming out of his shell; they didn't seem to like playing with other children very much, but it was better than nothing. Maybe he'd grow into it.

She only looked away for a moment, as she dried her hands, but there was suddenly a loud squawk and both boys were sprawled on the floor. Joe sat up first and dusted off his hands, then Patrick pushed himself up on his elbows, his lip starting to wobble. Patricia immediately made for the door, but by the time she reached it and looked outside Patrick was sitting up and Joe was patting at his grass-stained knees tenderly while the dog snuffled around and licked at Patrick's face.

"It's alright," Joe was saying knowledgeably. "Kisses always make it better."

Patrick giggled and cuddled the dog. Apparently, he wasn't such a useless friend after all.

\---

"But girls are stupid!" Joe complained, kicking a stone across Patrick's front yard.

"Yes. But she can be Leia," Patrick told him, huffing loudly and putting his hands on his hips so he looked like Joe's mom when he wasn't doing as he was told.

"I don't want her to be Leia!"

"Okay, then she can be Luke and you be Leia."

Joe laughed at him and pushed his shoulder. "I can't be Leia, stupid! I'm a boy!"

"Oh." Patrick seemed very surprised at this idea and suddenly changed his mind. "Okay. Let's play something different. Star Wars is dumb."

\---

Being called in to see the teacher wasn't something Cathie had expected while he was still in kindergarten. He seemed to have been doing so well and he was such a good little boy...

She was surprised to find Patricia already there, sitting on a chair in front of the teacher's desk, Patrick playing with some Lego on the play mat in the corner. The moment they saw each other, the boys yelled happily and Joseph ran over and started to help Patrick build some kind of castle.

"Hello," Cathie smiled, trying not to show her alarm and taking the seat next to her friend. The two women had become fairly close in the four or so months since the boys began to play together, and she was surprised not to know she had also been called in.

Patricia smiled up at her, but looked uncomfortable, as if she knew what was coming.

"So, what have the boys been up to?" Cathie asked, attempting to joke. It really couldn't be anything terrible. They were five years old, for goodness sake.

"Well," Mrs Watson began, folding her hands on the desk and pointedly switching her gaze between the two of them, "I'm sure you know that your boys are very close – "

"Of course," Cathie nodded, at exactly the same moment that Patricia laughed quietly.

"Well, you see, that is perfectly normal for children of their age – to have a very close friend they like to spend a lot of their time with – "

"Yes..."

"It's just that in the case of Patrick and Joseph, I'm growing a little concerned."

Cathie looked across at Patricia, who cast her an embarrassed smile and looked back at the teacher. "...Why?"

Without answering, Mrs Watson reached into her desk and pulled out two pink pieces of card covered in red glossy paper hearts and glitter. She pushed them both across the table, and glanced over to the corner, where the boys were whispering to each other behind their hands. "I asked the children to make cards for the Valentine's holiday," she explained carefully. "And these are what they made."

Both mothers leaned over the desk at the clumsily compiled cards; Cathie couldn't see anything wrong with them, but she had a suspicious feeling that she knew where this was headed, and really it was absolutely ridiculous. With one tentative finger, she opened the card nearest to her.

The message was mostly written in the teacher's hand, with the names scrawled over the top in stiff, crooked five-year-old writing.

"To Patrik. Be my Valentine. Love Joe. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX"

She cleared her throat and gave a small, bemused laugh and looked at the other one.

"To Joe. Be my Valentine. Love Patrick." It was embellished with several misshapen hearts and off-angled X-es.

"Oh."

"Do you perhaps think that the boys may be spending a little _too much_ time together?" Mrs Watson asked delicately.

Cathie laughed and looked at Patricia for back up. "Well, not at all – they're five years old, they can't understand things like this!"

"I did... _attempt_ to explain that they should choose girls within the class to send them to, but they were quite adamant about who they wanted to send them to."

Flabbergasted, Cathie stood up and picked up the card Patrick had made for her little boy. "I'll leave that decision for Pat to make," she declared, adjusting her purse. "I have no intention of stifling my child or giving him prejudices at this age."

She headed for the door and tugged he son to his feet, praying that Patricia would see it the same way.

Patricia didn't.

\---

"It's not that I think they're doing anything wrong, Cathie, honey, it's just that maybe she's right and they need to get to know other children..."

"Oh, come on, Patty – they adore each other!"

"I know," Patricia nodded, shifting the receiver onto her shoulder to our milk into her coffee, "and Joseph is such a sweet little boy... but I just don't want them to be limited or not understand how to play with other children."

"But Patrick didn't even have many friends before he met Joe – you said that yourself."

Patricia remained stonily silent, not pleased that her son was being considered socially inept by a woman whose child made her son Valentine's cards. "Well, I'm sorry," she said finally, "We made our decision."

\---  
The next morning at Kindergarten, Joe walked over to his table and put down his Action Man, looking around for Patrick. Patrick was sitting at a table with Bobby and Cara, his fist pressed against his cheek, looking unhappy.

Joe jumped off his chair and walked over to him. "You're sitting at the wrong table, dummy!" he announced, grabbing his sleeve and pulling on it.

Patrick looked frightened and pulled his arm away, hissing, "Joe! Don't, I can't play with you any more."

"Why not?" Joe asked, and his tummy hurt.

"My mommy said I can't. She told Mrs Watson I have to sit on this table and you have to sit with Matthew."

"But Matthew smells!"

Cara stared at them both and yelled out, "MRS WATSON, PATRICK IS TALKING TO JOE AND JOE SAID MATTHEW SMELLS!"

Joe pushed her off her chair and had to stand in the corner until morning break.

At lunchtime he sat at the table and stared at his cupcake – blue, with star sprinkles – and didn't want to eat it if he couldn't give half to Patrick. He left the whole thing on the table and thought the birds might like it. Seeds and worms were probably boring after a while.

\---

"Honey," Patricia said, as she sat down with her husband after tucking Kevin into bed, "I think we have a problem with Patrick."

"Really?" he looked over at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "A bigger problem than the girly-coloured pictures and the Valentines to little boys?"

"He's... well, I don't know how to explain it, other than... our five year old is attempting some kind of _hunger strike_ ."

Her husband laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. He's five."

"I'm not being ridiculous! He had to sit at the table for two hours and I had to threaten to smack his backside before he'd eat and when he did eat he only managed one baby potato and a few garden peas."

"Well, is he sick?"

"No, he's fine. He's just having the biggest sulk of his little life and I don't know what to do about it."

"Well, we have two options: we stand our ground and do what we think is best for our child, but come off as the bad guys; or we let him have his way and start playing with his little boyfriend again, and lose all authority we ever had. And you only get to buy one wedding hat in twenty years time."

Patricia sighed and shook her head. "I'm praying they'll grow out of it..."

"Out of the pining, or the suspect behaviour?"

"Both."

\---

One morning, Patrick arrived at school and found a strange lady sitting in Mrs Watson's chair. He stopped for a minute, remembering all the horrible things his mommy and daddy said about strangers. Maybe he should run away.

"Come in, sweetie," the lady said, smiling at him. "Mrs Watson is away for a few days, I'm Miss Thoms, and I'm going to be your supply teacher. What's your name?"

"Um... P-Patrick," he whispered, edging nearer her desk.

"Well, you sit down right there on the bean bags and we'll wait for everybody else, is that okay?"

Patrick nodded hard and dropped onto the nearest bean bag. He liked this one. It was softer than the others and bunched up all round him, like an easy chair.

When Joe walked in, Miss Thoms wasn't looking. Patrick already had a plan. He pressed one finger to his mouth and waved at him to come and sit down. Maybe if they were quiet, the new teacher wouldn't notice. Joe carefully sat on the beanbag next to him and stared at the teacher with wide eyes. "Don't tell," Patrick whispered, covering his mouth with one hand, because then she definitely wouldn't hear.

Joe just nodded and did his best to look innocent.

\---

That lunchtime, Joe handed his cupcake over to Patrick and it seemed like _forever_ since he'd shared his lunch with his best friend. He didn't understand why it mattered who he gave his cupcake to. His mother always told him to share – and so did Mrs Watson. It was supposed to be a nice thing to do.

Grown-ups were stupid.

"We have to keep it secret," Patrick told him seriously, as he handed Joe's half back. "I think my mommy'll be mad. She doesn't like you any more."

"Why?" Joe asked, wondering if that meant Patrick didn't like him any more, too.

Patrick shrugged and stuck out his bottom lip. "I dunno. I think she's mad at your mommy. I heard her tell daddy your mommy is a 'sell-rightcheese bitch'."

"What's a sell-rightcheese?"

Patrick shook his head and shrugged, and fed Joe some pumpkin square.

\---

It was the Friday afternoon that Patricia was standing at the kindergarten gate, waiting for her little redhead to come running out with his sloppily-painted artwork, and instead caught sight of two little heads peering round the corner of the building. They ducked back when she looked at them and then carefully Patrick edged forward and made his away across the schoolyard.

A few moments later, Joe pelted over to his own mother and jumped into her arms.

When Patrick thought she wasn't looking, he lifted his little chubby hand and waved morosely at the other boy, who waved back sadly. She'd wondered why Patrick had started coming home with an empty lunchbox that week and now, she supposed, she knew.

"Honey," she said, as she strapped Patrick into his booster seat, "would you like to have a tea party for your birthday?"

Patrick stared at her and continued to chew on the strawberry laces she'd given him, before finally asking, "Can Joe come?"

"No, sweetie, there are lots of other children in kindergarten that you can invite."

Folding his arms and kicking angrily at the chair in front of him, Patrick grumbled, "I don't want a stupid party. I want Joe!"

"Well, you can't have Joe, so you had best make some new friends."

Patrick promptly started to cry.

\---

Joe was very cross when he got to kindergarten on Monday morning and found the horrible old witch was back. He sat down next to Patrick to test the water and was immediately told to switch places with Simon, which meant sitting next to Emma-May and she had freckles and Joe didn't want to catch them. He sat on the floor next to the bean bag and scowled all morning.

"I've got an idea," Patrick whispered in the yard, during morning break.

"What?" Joe asked, trying to yank the head off of the stupid freckly girl's doll.

"We need to wear digsizes from the dress up box."

"That's stupid."

"No, it's not!"

"Well, you wear a disguise and I'll be me because I'm only not allowed to play with Patrick, not anybody else."

Patrick shrugged, "Okay," and grabbed a handful of the doll's hair. "You pull her legs."

Emma-May cried and everyone laughed at her. Joe was happy because the dressing up idea didn't work and now she was sadder than Patrick.

\---

After two further weeks of crying fits and broken toys – and being called in to see Mrs Watson because Patrick had hit Danny in the face with a hardback book – Patricia decided that enough was enough.

She called Cathie and invited Joe to Patrick's birthday tea. And tried not to cringe when they ignored everyone else at the party and sat in the sandbox throwing fistfuls at the little girls.

\---

Getting the boys into the same Elementary school wasn't exactly easy. The Stumphs had moved to Glenview, outside of the immediate catchment area for Winnetka, and it took considerable string-pulling to get them both into the same place, but when they finally managed it, it was worth it just to keep the peace.

When they were allowed to see each other, they were sweet, caring and largely obedient little boys – but woe betide the fool who ever tried to separate them, even for games in the playground.

Cathie and Patricia stood by their cars together, watching as they ran up the school steps and straight into the building while most of the other children dithered by their parents and had to be coerced. 

"How do you think they'll cope?" Cathie asked, smiling wistfully at the thought of her eldest child growing up, even thought Sam was barely forming sentences.

"Well, I think they'll cope just fine as long as they get their own way," Patty replied. "But I think I'm going to need a coffee, now."

Cathie smiled. "Count me in."

\---

Elementary school _sucked_ , in Joe's opinion. They had to do stuff like homework and there was no dressing up box. Plus, other kids were mean. Especially the girls. They did things like make fun of his glasses (which he hated hated _hated_ and kept trying to break so he wouldn't have to wear them any more) and gross stuff like making Patrick get under the table so they could kiss him. And that was so unfair because he was Joe's friend, not theirs and nobody tried to kiss Joe, not even Patrick.

But Joe thought that was probably okay, because Patrick was a boy. Boys didn't kiss boys. Even if they held hands under tables sometimes.

When Joe was eight, though, Katie Greenmore kissed him in the playground and Patrick hit her so hard she fell in the flower patch the first graders made and squashed all the flowers.

Patrick got sent to the Principal's office and wasn't allowed to play outside with the other kids for two whole weeks afterward. Joe just spent two weeks sitting on the steps outside the yard-door of their classroom every break.

\---

One Friday when Patrick was eight years old, Joe's mom gave him a ride home from school. The hall was full of boxes. He tried to remember if they'd changed Christmas this year but he didn't think so.

Kevin was already home, because his school was near their house, and he was sitting on the couch with his school bag on his lap, staring at a box that had all their dad's records in. His mom was sitting on the edge of the easy chair and his dad stood back by the door, like he had someplace to go. 

Patrick just blinked at his mom and dropped his Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles rucksack on the floor. Her eyes were pink like Joe's were the day he started kindergarten. They'd looked like that a lot, lately and Patrick had tried to be extra good so she wouldn't be sad and she'd start smiling properly again (the smiles she gave them reminded of the painted-on face on Kevin's old raggy-doll clown, Chuckles). 

They spent all night carrying boxes out to his dad's car and his mom didn't smile at all.

\---

Watching her little boys grow up was equal parts wonderful and heart-breaking for Cathie. She wanted to keep them innocent and tied to her apron strings, but she also loved to see the little things changing in them. The way Sam started getting bored of his starter books and tried to get hold of Joe's comics because they were more interesting; the way Joe was growing more inclined to sit him down and help him read them than throw tantrums about the baby getting hold of his stuff. 

Of course, there were other things; Joe would be eleven at the end of summer and despite doctors assuring her to the contrary, the speech issues were still lingering. His lisp was less worrisome, now, but he'd come home from school with bruises from fighting, some days. According to Patricia, he wasn't the only one. 

They got the kids together, one afternoon, sat them down on the couch and asked them if there was something wrong at school. They just looked at each other sidelong, and shrugged simultaneously.

"Joe, sweetheart, we know you've been fighting and we just want to know why."

Joe looked up at her earnestly with his big, round eyes and said, "We're not fighting _each other_ , mom! Patrick's my best friend!"

"Well, who are you both fighting, honey?" Patty tried, moving to crouch in front of her son and catch his downcast eyes. "You can tell mommy."

"I'm not a baby!" Patrick snapped, pulling his hand away when she tried to take it. "It's just stupid people. Stupid, mean people that say stupid things and – "

"Shh!" Joe hissed, elbowing him and then looking back up at Cathie like he thought she was going to smack him. Or worse, smack Patrick.

"Honey –"

"People..." Patrick looked over at Joe and physically shifted nearer to him, protectively. "People say stuff. About the way Joe says things. There's this one mean kid called Wayne that threw a basketball in his face so I hit him and then his friends came and started a fight and it was everyone else against Joe and me but we kind of won anyway... but now Wayne and his friends, kind of... they push us in the halls and stuff so we get into more fights and things."

"You're getting into fights taking care of Joe?" Cathie asked, both touched and incredulous that this tiny little boy – a fair three inches shorter than Joe already – was throwing punches to look out for her son.

Patrick sniffed and nodded, adding, "But he gets into fights for me, so it's fair and everything."

The next morning, Cathie booked her son in for articulation therapy.

\---

Patrick didn't like it when Joe's voice started changing. Joe was the only person who called him 'Patwick', and it was like a password for being his best friend. He could see him concentrating when he talked, trying to make sure he was doing the right sound with his tongue, and really, Patrick thought it was all pretty dumb. Joe talked fine. Who cared if some stupid kids at school made fun of him? Joe was way cooler than they were because nobody in their class played guitar. 

One day, sitting on the floor in Joe's room, playing on his Super Nintendo, Patrick started to feel particularly cross. Joe tried four times to say "extra life star" and when he couldn't, he threw his controller on the floor and his player died. They'd got to level nine and only needed to get to the end of the level to get a password and now they'd lost. 

"Joe!" he yelled, punching him in the arm. "We nearly finished!"

Joe just leaned back against his bed, hugging his knees and scowling. "It's a stupid game anyway," he complained, kicking at the controller so it skidded across the floor more when he didn't get the 's' sound right. 

"You're just mad because that stupid doctor wants you to speak different."

"I can't even do it..."

"You do sometimes."

"Yeah, but I have to think a lot to say stuff so I have to talk all kind of slow and then I sound like a retard."

"No, you don't."

"I do!"

"You don't!"

"Shut up."

Patrick hit restart on his controller and watched his thumbs rubbing circles over the little round buttons. "I don't want you to speak different. You won't be my Joe if you speak like everyone else."

\---

Joe wasn't sure why his heart was thumping so much or why his face was burning, but he did like Patrick calling him 'his Joe'. It was nice, because sometimes it was like the whole world against just them (or at least the whole class) but they always had each other. Ever since they were really small. Joe was almost twelve, now, and they were going to start Middle School, soon. It was like he'd known Patrick forever. He couldn't really even remember living in Florida.

He shuffled closer to Patrick so they were shoulder to shoulder, and made a confession.

"I don't want to speak like everyone else."

Patrick looked up at him and scrunched up his nose. "So don't practice."

"But my mom wants me to..."

"They're dumb exercises anyway," Patrick shrugged, and Joe remembered when he'd taught Patrick his routine and how to hold water on his tongue and they'd both ended up splashing each other with bottles of the stuff. They weren't such dumb exercises when they made them fun. "You shouldn't have to change the way you talk because other people want you to. I like you the way you are."

Even though he felt sucky and was mad at himself for not being able to say half his words quite right, Patrick made him smile. And for some reason, he did what his mother always did when he or Sam pleased her: he leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Patrick looked a little surprised for a moment, and scrubbed at his cheek with his fist, but he was grinning goofily, and Joe thought that was kind of alright.

\---

One of the sweetest things Patricia ever saw was her youngest son sitting on the edge of his bed with his little friend kneeling on the floor in front of him, carefully moving Patrick's fingers to sit on the right frets of his guitar.

Patrick had wanted to play guitar like his daddy when he was little, but his hands had never been big enough – he couldn't reach well enough to play anything – but now he was older, he was starting to learn and Joe was spending a lot of afternoons helping him practice. She couldn't think of any children she'd ever known who were as close as the boys were, and far from being worried by it, as she had been six years ago, she now found herself a little bit envious. She would have loved a friend that close when she was a child. The only thing that did worry her – and it seemed horribly hypocritical, now – was the fact that puberty (and therefore discovering girls) was looming on the horizon.

She wasn't sure she wanted to see the aftermath of either being spurned to spend time with girlfriends.

\---

Patrick's dad didn't really know what to do with kids, so whenever it was his weekend, the boys were each allowed to bring a friend. There was never any question of who Patrick would bring.

It was one of the weekends that Kevin didn't come with them, that Patrick and Joe were both sleeping in his father's room while his father took the couch. Usually all the boys slept on cushions on the floor in the sitting room, as the apartment only had one bedroom, so sleeping in the bedroom was something of a novelty.

They were poking around curiously when Patrick found a magazine with women dressed as bunnies on the front. He scrunched up his nose and looked at it.

"What's that?" Joe asked, hanging over the side of the bed on his stomach and putting his glasses back on clumsily.

"I... dunno. But there are ladies dressed like rabbits."

" _Rabbits_?"

Patrick tried not to let fact that Joe said the 'r' sound almost perfectly bother him, and held up the magazine for him to see. Joe took the magazine out of his hands and flicked through a couple of pages, before turning very red and dropping it like it burned his fingers.

Patrick blinked up at him. "What?"

Joe looked like he might throw up.

"Do you want me to get my dad?"

"NO!" Joe pushed himself up to sit on the bed with legs crossed, still looking shocked.

"What, then?" Patrick asked, picking up the magazine and climbing onto the bed to sit next to him. He opened the magazine somewhere in the middle and his mouth fell wide open.

There were naked ladies in there!

Patrick just stared, eyes wide, at the woman's long, Goldilocks curls hanging over her chest and wondered why anyone had ever bothered to take a picture and put it in a magazine.

"Why are they _naked_?" Joe whispered, looking over his shoulder.

"I don't know," Patrick whispered back, turning the page and finding that the lady on the next page wasn't just not wearing any clothes, she looked _deliberately naked_.

"This is gross."

"I know."

Joe shifted and pulled his knees up to his chest looking pale. "I don't think I like girls," he said.

Patrick closed the magazine and put it back where he'd found it, wiping his hands on his pyjamas and feeling slightly icky. "Me either," he said. "Girls are weird. I'm never getting married."

"Me either," Joe told him, shaking his head so hard his glasses almost fell off.

"Good. When we grow up, we should just live in a house and never let any girls in."

"Or _parents_ ," Joe added.

\---

Kevin had always thought his baby brother was a little weird. The obsession with his best friend was kind of creepy enough, but then he'd do things like watch the same ten minutes of a film over and over again until he had it word perfect or listen to records that were even kind of old fashioned for his parents to be listening to. He wasn't even thirteen, yet.

But he really wasn't expecting the day to come when Patrick came and sat in his bedroom, cross-legged on the floor, and didn't say anything for half an hour, just watched him play an F-1 computer game on the Megadrive.

"Kevin, what's a fag?"

Kevin's Ferrari scraped a wall. " _What_?"

"Some of the kids at school call me a fag and I kind of get it... sort of... but not really. What does it mean?"

Pausing the game, Kevin took a deep breath. "Dude... a... a fag is a guy who likes other guys."

Patrick blinked for a minute as he thought about it. "Then they're right?"

"No!" Kevin told him quickly. "No, I don't mean 'like' the way you 'like' Joe, man. I mean, they want to... um... _marry_ guys and not girls."

"But I'd rather marry Joe than – "

"SHH!" Kevin interrupted quickly. "You can't say that!"

"But I would!"

"Only because you're _twelve_ and you don't, sort of... you don't know anything about girls, yet."

"I know girls are whiny and don't play computer games and they're always calling me 'Stumpy' because they're all taller than me."

"Joe's taller than you. Actually, everyone's taller than you."

"Shut up!"

"Look, dude, you're not a fag, okay?"

"How do you know?"

Kevin didn't have an answer to that one. And if he was honest, he wasn't even sure he was right.

\---

Sex Ed was the most embarrassing hour of Joe's life.

His whole class had to watch short films about the changes they were supposed to go through in the next two years. Some of the girls turned funny colours when they did the section about periods. He couldn't blame them; he kind of wanted to be sick himself. It sounded really, really gross. But maybe it explained why his mom was pissy sometimes.

Patrick was sitting next to him, looking really uncomfortable. They glanced at each other when the lady on the video explained about girls breasts getting bigger, and made 'Ew!' faces. Joe was pretty sure that Patrick was thinking of the nasty magazine they'd found at his dad's house, too. Those ladies' boobies looked like they were drawn on like cartoons.

The thing that confused Joe the most was the way the teacher seemed to think they were only going to have crushes on the girls. He didn't think that made a lot of sense, somehow. She talked about the dreams they had sometimes, and the thing was, Joe never remembered dreaming about girls – he didn't even like the girls he went to school with as friends; they were too catty – the only person he could remember dreaming about, was Patrick.

Was that weird? He didn't know, really, but Patrick was Joe's favourite person in the whole world – even more than his mom – and even if he knew that boys didn't normally kiss boys, it always seemed pretty cool in his dreams. He didn't really know why more people didn't do it.

\---

Early in 8th Grade was the first time anyone ever asked Patrick out. He was sitting on the wall of a giant tree planter at lunch, watching Joe play his Gameboy and chewing a ham sandwich, totally unaware of the huddle of girls giggling and whispering on a table nearby. Unaware, that was, until two of the girls came over to them, looking excited.

"Hi, Patrick," one of them said, and Beth snickered against her shoulder.

"Um. Hi."

Joe only glanced up from his Gameboy for a fraction of a second, before seeming to decide they weren't interesting enough to pause his game for, and looking back down again.

The next thing the girls said came out in a confusing rush and Patrick took a minute to understand it. 

"So... Jenny really likes you and thinks you're cute and she wants to know if you'll be her boyfriend and stuff."

Beside him, the familiar sound of Super Mario losing a life bleeped out.

Patrick just stared at them.

"Helloo-oo? Patrick? Will you go out with Jenny or not?"

"Go where?"

Both girls giggled and made him feel like an idiot. "Out. Like, _dating_ , duh."

Patrick glanced at Joe, whose face was very, very red. "Why would I want to date _her_?"

"Because she _likes you_ ," Beth said as if this was the only possible option a boy had when a girl liked him.

"I don't like _her_ , though!" Pretty much the only person he liked was Joe, but he didn't think it would be too easy to explain that. Next to him, Joe's Gameboy gave the twitter of an extra life.

Both girls gasped and stared at him like slapped fish. "Oh my God, you're so mean!"

Patrick just shrugged.

"C'mon, Beth, let's tell Jenny. He's too dumb for her anyway."

Joe snickered under his breath and lifted one hand quickly for a hi-five.

Later, sitting in the changing room after everyone had finished gym in last period and left as quickly as possible, Joe blurted out, "I'm glad you didn't date her."

Patrick blushed and squashed Joe's toes with socked feet. "I don't need a girlfriend," he shrugged, and pulled on his t-shirt.

\---

"And they cut it off?"

"Yeah, but I was a baby, so I don't remember it."

"That's gross."

Joe just shrugged. "I get a party, though."

"Yeah, me too – it's called 'my birthday'."

"Yeah, but I get an extra one. And money."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's okay..."

"Yeah, but like... all my cousins are going to be there and they're annoying. And my grandma was talking about getting married or something."

" _Huh_?"

"Not at the party or anything!"

"OH."

"Just one day. She thinks I'm gonna marry one of the girls from the party."

"We're not marrying girls," Patrick reminded him, sounding like he'd get really mad if Joe didn't agree with him. It was kind of lucky that Joe did agree. Passionately so.

He still had to sit through several hours of aunties smiling at him and pushing bushy-haired girls with braces in his general direction, but he kept his mind on the cash and the plans he had for a new guitar.

\---

"I can't believe they've grown up so much," Patricia said, smiling as Cathie put a mug of coffee down on the table in front of her. "I can't imagine one without the other, these days."

"Neither can I," Cathie replied, smiling back and thinking back to the first afternoon they had run out of kindergarten together when Joe was only five years old. Almost ten years later, they were nearly ready to start senior high and for the first time, they were going to be separated. "I feel like a monster for letting this happen."

"I wish we could afford to send Patrick to New Trier, believe me, but with two separate households..."

Cathie nodded and sipped her coffee. "Joe seemed to have forgotten he'd be going to New Trier at all... he's known he was going since he was a child – the family always go to new Trier – but when we talked about it..."

"Tantrum?"

"As close as he ever gets to one of those... He's a really, _really_ good boy – I mean, you hear horror stories..."

"Oh yeah."

" – but the worst I get from him is missed homework and a little answering back, but nothing you wouldn't expect from a boy his age."

Patricia nodded.

"But... well, making your child cry is just something every parent hates, but when he's almost fourteen... It's just heartbreaking. I even asked Richard if we could break tradition and just send him to a public school, but... the grandparents."

"In laws. God love'em."

"Or smite'em, whichever."

Both women laughed.

"You know, I hope they don't grow apart because of this," Patricia sighed. "Joe is a dream to have around, I don't want to think of the crowds Patrick might fall in with in a new school, and they've never really had to make new friends because they've always had each other..."

"I know... but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Hopefully, the same applies to friendships."

\---

The last weekend before they started senior high, Patrick's dad took the boys (including Kevin) camping. They travelled out to Mendota Hills and spent a couple of days in the Kind of Alright Outdoors, swimming in water that didn't taste of bleach or turn purple if somebody peed in it and riding bikes without the fear of being run down by some jerk doing seventy in an SUV.

It was fun, mostly, but every minute that went by the closer they got to going home, and going home meant different schools. Not necessarily being able to see Joe every day, or sit next to him in class, or at lunch, or even have someone to share jokes with. Patrick felt sick every time he thought about it, and even when he tried not to, he still felt like he was carrying a rucksack weighed down with rocks.

Their last night, laying in their sleeping bags in the little two-man tent, they talked about what would happen next, promising they'd still hang out and do their homework together every day, and hang out at weekends and on holidays... They tried to make it seem okay, but they both knew it wasn't. It wasn't going to be the same at all.

They lay looking at each other in the dark, the batteries in their lantern having almost run out. Joe's eyes always looked strange without his glasses, like he was never quite looking in a straight line, so Patrick dragged his pillow closer so he could focus properly. 

"This whole thing sucks, dude..." Joe murmured, tucking his hands up under his chin. "I don't get why they have to ruin everything because my grandpa wants them to."

Patrick just shook his head against his pillow. He couldn't even bring himself to try to understand it any more. The horrible fact of it was that Joe was going to go away to his rich kid school and there was going to be a whole bunch of kids he could make friends with, who didn't know him when he spoke strange (or stranger, really) and his parents were almost caving on letting him get contact lenses instead of the Joe-90 glasses he'd worn since he was eight. He was going to be too cool for Patrick. He'd find new friends he liked more and Patrick would be stuck in Glenview, with no one.

He rolled over abruptly and turned his back on Joe, embarrassed that he even _felt_ like crying.

For a few moments there was silence, and then shuffling as Joe propped himself on his elbows to peer over Patrick's shoulder. Patrick didn't look at him, he just sighed miserably and closed his eyes.

"I'm not... I mean, I'm not going to forget you or anything," Joe tried, apparently reading his mind; but then, they always knew what the other was thinking. "I promise..." There was another long pause and then, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying! I'm not a girl!" Patrick shrugged him off and slumped onto his back.

"Hey, don't be mad at me because we have to go to different schools – I _begged_ to go to your school. My mom and dad said no. I can't make them let me!"

Patrick bit his teeth together hard to shop his lip shaking, and closed his eyes tight. He was far, far too old to cry. Joe would think he was stupid and then he'd definitely want new friends.

There was a soft rustling as Joe settled back down in his sleeping bag and pressed his forehead against the top of Patrick's arm. "I hate parents," he mumbled.

Patrick felt around in the dark until he found Joe's hand and held it tight. He thought Joe was going to pull his hand away, grossed out, for a minute, but he was just moving his fingers so that they were more comfortable. The last time they'd held hands they were eight and their elementary school teacher had told them to stop. Not wanting to be separated the way Mrs Watson had separated them, they did as they were told. It didn't seem to matter, much, now – they were going to be separated anyway.

They just lay there quietly for a few minutes before Joe shifted again, wriggling so they were at eyelevel. "Patrick?" he whispered, quieter than they had been before.

Patrick opened his eyes and whispered, "What?"

"Do... um. Do you think it'd be like, too superweird if I kind of... kissed you?"

For a moment, Patrick stared up at the canopy of the tent waiting for the weird flip-flopping feeling in his stomach to stop. "Um... probably."

"Oh." Joe shrugged uncomfortably and started to shift back down to where he was laying before.

"But, y'know... I probably wouldn't mind if you did it anyway."

"Probably?"

Patrick just shrugged and nodded, but he carefully squeezed Joe's hand tighter, too. Mostly, he just ended up remembering that Joe breathing close to his face was the weirdest part and that neither of them really opened their mouths much. And that he'd forgotten how long Joe's eyelashes were until he nearly freaked out thinking they were a spider on his face. And that was it. He fell asleep with his nose pressed against Joe's cheek, and the next morning it was as if nothing had happened. 

\---

Joe's fourteenth birthday was on a Tuesday barely a week after he started senior high. He didn't have a party; he didn't want to see anyone, anyway – he hadn't hung out with Patrick since they dropped him home from camping, and he'd been totally miserable the whole time.

High school was isolating. People were forming cliques, or hanging out with the kids they already knew, and Joe had gone to Elementary and Junior High in Glenview so he hardly even recognised kids from Winnetka, Wilmette and Northfield. The only familiar faces were the kids he and Patrick had been mean to in kindergarten and he didn't really want to hang out with them anyway. He was the third youngest in his year – only scraping into his grade on a technicality when he was in kindergarten and kept there ever since – some of the kids were a whole year older than him and made him feel like a baby. He just sat in the seats closest to the windows in all his classes, and only really spoke to everyone else when he had to. There didn't seem much point in interacting with the rest of them, because none of them would ever compare to his best friend anyway.

Most days he skipped lunch because he hated being the only kid sitting on a table by himself in the cafeteria. He might not have any friends at school, but he didn't have to draw everyone else's attention to that fact. He didn't think anyone else even knew his name.

They didn't do anything special, that evening – they just hung out, Joe teaching Patrick Guns 'n' Roses solos on his guitar and later watching Star Wars, propped against the wall on Joe's bed. They did this kind of thing every day after school for the last few years. Now it was a novelty. Joe wasn't sure he'd ever hated anything so much in his life.

Joe wanted to ask Patrick about his school, but he didn't want to hear that it was awesome and that there were tons of cool people to hang out with and that he hadn't missed Joe at all. So he didn't ask. They just sat shoulder to shoulder, one of Patrick's knees folded so it rested over Joe's leg slightly, and let themselves become absorbed in X-wings and lightsabers.

When Joe's dad called up the stairs to tell them it was time he dropped Patrick home, they took their time getting their sneakers on, not wanting to go back to separate homes and different schools. They'd hardly even talked all night, but just as he was going for the bedroom door, Patrick stopped and turned back to Joe, looking at his feet.

"So, I mean... we're still going to do this stuff, aren't we?"

Joe blinked at him. "Sure, dude. I mean... we promised."

"Yeah. But, I mean. It's already been like a week."

"I know, dude, and it sucks. It totally, _totally_ sucks. I hate it, but my mom is making me do my homework right away and kind of like make a good impression or something..."

"You're not... y'know... you're not making a million new friends or anything?"

Joe actually laughed. "ME? Are you totally insane?"

Patrick just frowned at him.

"No, dude, I haven't even spoken to anyone, really."

There was a look something close to relief creeping over Patrick's face. "Oh. Cool. Well, not cool, because it really has to suck, but I mean... I dunno. I just figured you'd made a bunch of friends and... y'know."

"I don't want a million friends, man. I just want my best friend to get to hang out with me sometimes. Or, like, all the time, really."

Patrick barrelled into him and hugged him so hard he couldn't breathe.

 

A couple of months into the school year, Patrick was regularly spending lunchtimes in one of the music rooms, fiddling around with the instruments, trying to figure out how to play them. He was really into the drums. He liked battering the crap of something while he pretended he didn't care that the only person who ever talked to him was one dude in Biology who made lame jokes and tried to get him chatting when he really didn't have anything to say. He was actually just finding the guy annoying, now.

One afternoon he was sitting at the kit drumming along to tracks on his headphones, when two 12th graders walked in. He dropped the sticks in embarrassment and quickly gathered his things, apologising. Smartest thing: act humble, make a swift exit, not get head kicked in. He made for the door, but one of the older boys grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

"What's the fucking rush, dude?"

"I have to – I have – " _I'm going to die. Right now._

"You're pretty decent."

"I'm... hang on a second, _what_?"

"You been playing long?"

"...No."

"Seriously?"

"I don't even own a kit."

The other boy folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, staring at the guy whose hand was still wrapped around Patrick's arm.

"You ever been in a band?"

"I don't even – "

"Listen, man, we need a drummer – "

"Our other guy's kind of unreliable, we're kicking him out."

"You wanna try out?"

"Um. Not really..."

" _'Not really'_?"

"Well, I mean – I'd like to and everything, but I don't even... I just sit in here some lunchbreaks, y'know?"

"If you're that good from dicking around in the music room 'some lunchbreaks' you're pretty fucking cool, man."

Patrick blushed and shrugged.

"We'll see you tomorrow, after last period, okay? Right here."

Patrick really didn't have the balls to argue.

\---

The day Cathie and Richard finally agreed to let Joseph try contact lenses, they took him to the optician after school as a surprise. He was such a beautiful boy but even as his mother, Cathie had to admit that the bottle-bottom glasses didn't flatter him at all. He'd gotten so quiet in the past couple of months, and they wanted to cheer him up; her hope was that getting rid of his glasses would boost his confidence and he'd start making friends.

The first thing he said, when the got back into the car, was, "Mom, can I borrow your cell to call Patrick?"

Baby steps.

Both she and Richard listened as subtly as they could as Joe spoke to his friend on the phone.

"Hey! Hey – dude, guess what, man! My parents let me get lenses!" There was a pause for Patrick's response. "...yeah. Well, do you want to like come over? We can probably pick you up – right mom? Huh? You're...? Oh." Another long pause. Richard gave her a sidelong look. "When will you be done? Oh... like... yeah. I guess. Sure. B... bye."

He didn't say another thing, he just switched off the phone and held it out over Cathie's shoulder for her to take.

"Is everything okay, honey?" she asked, tucking it back into her purse.

Joe just nodded and stared out of the window for the rest of the ride home.

\---

Richard stood at the kitchen window, watching his son idle back and forth in the tyre swing, the toes of his sneakers dragging in the dirt. He was miserable. Very obviously so. And naturally, as a parent, Richard wanted to do something – to make his boy feel better; put things right – but his son was fourteen years old and he was fully aware that the only thing that would cheer him up was something he couldn't really provide. 

Perhaps it was time for a talk. Father to son. Man to... fourteen year old.

He shook his head and made his way out into the yard, picking up one of the plastic garden chairs as he went and placing it down under the tree the rope swing hung from. Joe just lifted his head a little from where it had been resting on the arms he had wrapped around the swing, and turned to face him. 

"Is dinner ready?"

"No, not quite," Richard replied, making himself comfortable. "I just thought I'd come out here and, well... hang down with my son for a while." 

Joe almost smiled. "Hang _out_ , dad."

"Don't mind if I do."

Joe just buried his face in his arms again.

"So. How's school?"

"Lame."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Wh - "

"Because I have to go to this stupid place just because you did and I hate it. Everyone else sucks. I have nobody to talk to. My best friend is like, he has a _band_ , now and he doesn't have time to hang out with me..." 

"A band? Really?"

"Yes! And like, if he wanted to form a band, he could have _asked me_ , dad. I've been helping him kind of learn guitar forever and now he's playing drums anyway..." 

"Well, why don't you ask him?"

"But he's already in a band, now. And everyone else is like - they nearly finished school, so they're totally cooler than me and he's going to be really popular and totally forget about me!" 

"Don't be silly, now. You've known Patrick twice as long as you didn't know him - "

"That's not the point!"

"Son, I don't believe a good kid like Patrick is going to _abandon you_ just because he makes new friends."

"Do you see him right now?"

"No, but - "

"Exactly, dad. Exactly. I so knew this would happen." Joe got up from the swing and skulked into the house.

It hadn't entirely gone the way Richard had planned. 

\---

When Patrick emailed Joe and asked if he wanted to hang out at the weekend, Joe only hit two keys in response. 

\---

Patrick did something the next day that he'd never envisioned himself doing. He cut his last class and caught the bus to New Trier's Northfield campus.

Joe almost didn't see him sitting on the wall at the school gate and Patrick had to hop up and grab his arm as he walked out. 

"Joe!"

Joe jerked back in surprise before he realised who had grabbed him, and yanked out his earphones. "What are you doing here?" he asked, looking around them as people gave Patrick curious double-takes.

"I... I don't really know."

"How did you even get here? You have class until ten minutes from now, man – "

"Yeah, I know. I know... and I have a best friend who's pissed with me and it's kind of shitty."

Joe sighed and looked off across the parking lot. His mother wouldn't be picking him up – the campus was too close to home – so he couldn't say he had to go.

"How's, like... how's the band?" Joe asked finally, and he sounded like he was trying not to sulk as he stuffed his headphones into his bag and shifted around awkwardly.

"Um. Okay, I guess. We've only had about four practises."

"Right..."

"How's, um. How's school?"

"Pretty lame, basically..."

"Me too."

"Seriously?" Joe actually seemed surprised and kind of sceptical, like he thought that because Patrick was assing around with some older kids he was suddenly Living The Dream.

"Seriously! Dude... there's just that obnoxious kid in my science class and these guys way older than me who just care about hardcore and girls... probably not even in that order. It bites. Like, properly hardcore, man. And we so, _so_ need to start thinking about how the hell we're getting into the same college, because four years of this is going to suck more balls than a Bangkok ladyboy."

Joe smiled a little and shrugged, "Maybe you'll be famous by then anyway. With this band thing."

"Okay, so we're called 'Public Display of Infection'. We're not going to get outside of Glenview, dude. No one is even gonna be signing us for weddings or Bar Mitzvah's."

"I dunno, dude... if the snippy part goes wrong I guess it'd be kind of suitable for the last one..."

"Oh man – that's totally gross!" Patrick laughed, and punched him in the arm. "So, so gross."

Grinning, Joe shoved him back lightly and asked, "So, like... now you're here and stuff, do you want to, like... hang out or something?"

"Yeah, so long as you're not going to make me bang like crazy in a room filled with pictures of half-naked women..."

Joe just looked at him. "That like... didn't come out right, did it?"

\---

The problem they had was that there were not enough hours in the day for school, homework, chores, family, bands and hanging out. Something had to go. Which was why both of them started to skip classes. It started out just as an occasional thing; once or twice in a couple of weeks. Then maybe once or twice a week. Then whole days. 

By Patrick's fifteenth birthday, they'd gotten pretty good at the excuses and covering themselves. Patrick's mom was always too busy to notice and Joe's own parents were pretty much convinced he was the most wonderful child in the universe and would never do anything so terrible as to _skip class_! Sometimes, he felt guilty for lying to them, but if they hadn't let his grandparents dictate where he went to school, he'd see Patrick every day anyway.

Plus, neither of them were dumb. They could get by with borrowed class notes from the kind-of-friends they'd eventually made and actually reading their text books – which was more than the rest of their classmates bothered to do anyway. Patrick actually got an A- for one test and he'd missed all the lessons on the topic.

The days they skipped were just spent hanging out. Making up for lost time. Playing computer games, watching films, playing guitar; ironically, they even spent a couple of afternoons doing homework. It wasn't like they were running around the city getting high or shoplifting. They just wanted to be together. That was all.

\---

Patricia was surprised to find Joe already sitting on the floor in Patrick's bedroom when she got home from work. They – she and her ex-husband – were supposed to be taking the three boys out for Patrick's birthday dinner. Joe was sleeping over, but they were supposed to be picking him up on the way.

"Oh... hi, honey – I didn't know you were here..."

"Hi, Mrs Patty," Joe replied, waving vaguely and hammering at the keys on the computer controller. He's always called her that, ever since he was five. He'd never been able to pronounce 'Stumph', so she suggested he call her 'Patty'; he'd just become confused and she'd ended up as Mrs Patty ever since. She'd never met another child from whom such a ridiculous name had made as much sense.

Patrick had always called Joe's mother 'Cathie'. Cathie always treated him like a favourite nephew. After all, they were like extended family, now – ten years on.

"Joe, sweetheart, do you have your things for tonight, or do we need to take you home first?"

"I have my stuff, it's cool, thanks."

"Well, we need to be there for seven thirty, so you two get a move on, okay?"

The boys nodded in perfect synch and continued to play their game.

\---

It was a long time since Patrick had last been in a locker room with Joe. Eight or nine months: from just turning fourteen to coming up fifteen. Usually, if they slept over each other's houses it was a case of dump jeans, get in sleeping bag; get up, shower and dress in bathroom. This time, they were going to a respectable establishment and there were things to be done, such as shaving. Patrick didn't _really_ need to shave – his hair was so fair that even if it had been marginally hairier than a baby's butt (and it wasn't), it would barely have noticed.

Joe, on the other hand, despite being four months younger than Patrick, was busily sprouting what he self-consciously called his Jewfuzz. He already needed to shave at least every other day, and Patrick tried not to be jealous as he sat on the edge of the bath and watched him self-consciously scraping through the thick white creme on his face.

Patrick made a point of watching him shave, because if he didn't watch his hands as he talked to him, Patrick started noticing the way he wasn't _entirely_ as gangly anymore. His shoulders were broader, slightly. He didn't look so much like a bushbaby lately, either – all huge eyes and soft, rounded features. He was actually, kind of, starting to look like a grown up. He even had pretty good skin, for a teenager – although that was something Patrick could definitely say was on his side. His own skin hadn't received the puberty memo any more than his facial hair had.

He kept finding his eyes drifting across to Joe's back, watching his shoulders and feeling suddenly under-developed and childlike. He couldn't stop staring.

"Dude, I _am_ doing it right!" Joe told him edgily, jabbing him in the calf with his foot. "I don't need a supervisor..."

"Huh? Oh. Oh... um..." Patrick stood up, quickly, "Um. Sorry. I'll be in my room." He made a hasty escape, feeling slightly like a peeping tom. Which was kind of weird, because there were occasions in kindergarten when they'd been stuck in the same bath together...

Once in his room, Patrick started picking up stuff off his bed – he was half dressed already, just needed to put his shirt on over his t-shirt, really – and his hand fell on Joe's Slayer tee. He picked it up and was about to throw it onto his rucksack on the floor but somehow en route managed to get lost and wound up with it pressed against his nose. It smelled like Joe. Like the fabric softener his mom had been using for years, and weirdly like watermelon mixed in with deodorant. And Joe. Just Joe; just that weird smell that used to be a lot more like Crayola and cupcakes and a lot less like Lynx.

Halfway into a contented smile, Patrick realised he was sniffing his best friend's shirt and felt kind of creepy.

He felt even creepier after Joe had gone home on the Sunday night, and Patrick found himself curled on his side, the secretly squirreled away shirt fisted in one hand, the other hand inside his boxers.

\---

Patrick was acting weird. He didn't know how to describe it, and he couldn't even really figure out how to define it, but Joe could feel it. Sometimes, Joe would be talking and Patrick seemed to take an extra half-second to react. Or, Joe would lean near him and he'd flinch.

He kind of wanted to ask what was wrong, but he was afraid of finding out that he'd talked in his sleep or something – freaked him out. Because that was perfectly plausible, considering pretty much every dream he had lately featured Patrick and making out in some capacity. It was just because he was At That Age. Teachers kept reminding them of that in biology lessons. "During this phase some people may become confused about their sexuality, or find themselves attracted to a member of their own sex..."

Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever. He got the idea. And every time it was mentioned in class people just looked at each other a little more suspiciously and started panicking when they knocked some dude's hand on the way to the door. Every time it was mentioned, it also felt a whole lot like the entire room was staring directly at him, knowing that he was waking up with sticky sheets and thoughts of his best friend.

He started to stay awake as long as possible when they slept over, afraid that if Patrick wasn't being weird because of that, it was only a matter of time before he _was_ being weird because of that. It got to the stage where, one night, as Patrick slept in Joe's bed, Joe climbed out of his sleeping bag and dragged the whole thing downstairs to sleep on the couch instead.

When his mother woke him up at 8am, he went back upstairs to find Patrick sitting on his pillows, hugging his knees and looking pale.

"Hey..." Joe tried, bundling the sleeping bag against his stomach. "Sleep okay?"

Patrick was suddenly nowhere near as pale as he had been. "Um... where did you go?"

"You were, um... kind of snoring or something, dude..."

"Sorry."

"No – no, it's cool..."

Patrick just nodded. Joe dumped his sleeping bag by the closet and went to sit next to his best friend.

"So, like... are you okay, dude?"

"I think I should go home or something."

"But it's like eight in the morning..."

There was a little huff of laughter and Patrick rubbed is face. "Yeah, I guess."

"I figured we'd be like, hanging out today."

"Yeah."

He was being weird again. But Joe knew, this time, that there was no way he'd been overheard talking in his sleep or anything like that at all... He just didn't get it.

"Are you okay, dude?" he tried, not looking at him, but tugging at the elasticated band around his sock. "Because I don't... I guess... I mean, this is getting kind of awkward..."

"Sorry..."

"You don't have to keep apologising, man... just tell me if something's wrong, okay? I mean, we've been best friends practically forever and stuff. If you can't tell _me_ , kind of like... who can you tell?" Joe really hoped that for all his bravery, if the problem was anything like what he feared it was, he wouldn't have told anyone at all.

"Are you seriously telling me you don't know?"

"Um... yeah? If I knew I'd stop asking and do something about it."

Patrick gave another uncomfortable laugh and started to shift on to his knees so he could crawl off the bed.

And it was just getting ridiculous, now, so Joe grabbed his arm and pulled him back. " _Patrick_ – "

"Dude! Stop touching me all the time!"

Joe jerked his hand back and felt his face beginning to burn. "I... I'm sorry, man, I don't... I'm not doing it on purpose..."

Patrick's shoulders slumped heavily and he sat back on his heels. He so knew. He _so_ knew that Joe had dreams about him and stuff. This was totally horrible.

"I can't just..." Patrick shrugged limply. "It makes things complicated."

Swallowing, Joe nodded and stood up, looking for yesterday's jeans. "Sorry."

"It's not even your fault..."

"It won't like... I won't do it any more, it's fine."

Patrick let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud and closed his eyes.

\---

"I've been meaning to ask you, actually – did something happen when Patrick stayed at yours a couple of weeks ago? He's... he won't even _talk_ about Joe."

Cathie sighed and shook her head against the receiver. "I don't know... I got up on the Saturday morning and Joe was sleeping on the couch. Patrick still in the bedroom... I assumed they had a fight."

"Oh..."

"Joe's being a little bit of a grouch about it, to tell you the truth. I think he misses Patrick, but doesn't want to be the first to apologise."

"Oh, well, Patrick's Taurean. Tell him not to expect an apology. He'll be waiting until the Sun burns out!"

Cathie laughed a little. "Could you have imagined us having this conversation, knowing the way we were ten years ago?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Maybe we should set them up, or something? You could bring Patrick over and we can just leave them to work things out by themselves."

"You can lead a horse to water, honey..."

"True."

\---

For a month, Patrick got by just ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach when he checked his emails or the messages on the little chalkboard over the phone in the kitchen, and there was nothing from Joe. He shut himself in his room, when he could get out of doing things like band practice, and curled up with his stolen t-shirt or tried to write lame songs about how confused and miserable he felt. They were never very good. 

Then, one day, he came home from school and walked into his room to find his laundry stacked on his bed. On the very top, with one of his mother's pale lilac note squares on it, was Joe's Slayer t-shirt.

_'This needs to be returned to Joe.'_

Patrick was horrified. What if she knew? What if Joe had told his mom and Cathie had told Patrick's? And to his dismay, she'd actually _washed it_. It smelled like his own clothes. Nothing like Joe at all – he was just the faintest trace on it, now. How could she?! He _needed_ that shirt!

Clutching it in both hands, he sat down beside his laundry and started at it. He really missed Joe. _Really missed him_. The idea that Joe was weirded out by him, now, sort of made him want to break things. Or cry. Or maybe both. It wasn't as though he'd chosen this! He wanted his best friend back, and for it not to be awkward and weird or always wind up with Joe looking at him funny. It wasn't fair.

Especially because the only one who could change it was Patrick himself.

\---

Joe was washing his dad's car in the drive on Saturday afternoon when he looked up to find Patrick fumbling in the side pocket of his shorts, by the mailbox. He couldn't see Joe from where he was – Joe was watching him through the windows on both sides of the car. His heart was racing. He wanted to rush over and say 'hi', hug him, maybe. Instead, he just peeked out from around the vehicle.

"Patrick?"

Patrick froze for a second, shoving something into the mailbox, and turned to look over at him.

"What're you doing?"

"Um. Just... just returning something. I'm leaving, don't worry."

"But - !" He couldn't just show up and then run off! They hadn't even spoken to each other in weeks and Joe just wanted to apologise for making him uncomfortable with all the touching stuff. They'd always been touchy-feely – always. He didn't realise anything had changed until Patrick got upset about it, and he really didn't want Patrick to stop being his best friend. It didn't even seem fair. Patrick couldn't just get mad at him without warning him that he was doing anything wrong. "Wait – don't go, yet!"

Patrick stopped, his bike hiked up on one wheel to turn it around. He just looked at him.

"Are you still mad at me?"

" _Huh_?"

"Is that a yes? Because this is like... really unfair."

"Mad at you?" Patrick echoed, looking confused. "I'm... why would I be mad at you? You're mad at me!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are – you don't have to pretend, man, I totally get it... and I mean... it sucks, but I get it. I just want you to not be."

"Dude... I'm not mad at you. You just kind of ran out on me – I figured you like..." Joe looked around and lowered his voice. "You told me to stop touching you, dude."

"Because it's awkward! I didn't mean - "

"It was never awkward before."

"Because it didn't make me – " Patrick stopped abruptly and turned red. "Forget it."

"Why? What were you gonna say?"

"Nothing. I'm going home."

There was a soft splat as Joe threw the soaked sponge in his hand at Patrick's shoulder. 

"You dick!" Patrick dropped his bike and stomped over to the bucket of grubby water.

"Don't!"

Patrick swung the bucket hard and drenched Joe all down one side.

"ASSHOLE!" Joe was already going for the hose.

\---

Cathie looked out the window in alarm, when she heard the yelling from the front yard. She smiled when she saw the two teenage boys wrestling for the hose, each soaked to the skin.

"Thank God." 

She had been beginning to give up hope.

\---

"Thanks," Patrick mumbled, taking the towel from Joe's hands and dropping it on the side of the bath as he peeled off his t-shirt. It was clinging to the skin disgustingly. He hated the feel of wet material.

"You've got grass on the back of your neck," Joe told him, dropping his own shirt into the laundry basket and brushing at him. He stopped abruptly when Patrick blushed. "Um... sorry. I forgot about the not touching thing... sorry."

"It's fine," Patrick replied, rubbing at it himself.

"Y'know... my science teacher is always saying it's just a phase..."

"What is?"

"The like... the whole thing. I'll grow out of it. Then you don't have to feel weird about me any more..."

Patrick wasn't completely sure what he was talking about, but he was suddenly really regretting ever telling Joe not to touch him. He couldn't exactly retract that, now – it'd sound totally gay. He just shrugged. "I don't feel weird."

"You do. You like... you act weird, anyway."

"Well, it's just kind of embarrassing, dude. I mean... the whole growing up thing _sucks_."

"You're telling me?!"

Patrick smirked and tentatively started to dry himself off.

"I don't get why things that were okay in middle school aren't okay now. It's not like anything changed."

There was really no way to say, 'Except I didn't jerk off thinking about you, in middle school.' He shrugged again, and nodded. Joe's teacher was right. This was so a phase.

The next thing he knew, there was a hand resting gently on his shoulder and Joe was kissing him on the cheek.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing."

"Um..."

"Like, it used to be okay to hold your hand... and kind of... kiss you and stuff."

"You still want to do that?" Patrick asked, feeling his mouth go very dry.

Joe didn't say anything.

"Do you?" Patrick tried again. Because that would be so, so superweird... and also, so, so fucking awesome.

"I'm gonna get you a t-shirt," Joe muttered and walked out of the room. Patrick followed him.

"I would."

"What?"

"Y'know: it'd be weird. Really weird. But I would. And I mean, I know people are totally not going to get that it's, y'know: it's just us and whatever. But I would. If you wanted. Probably."

"Well, like... if _you_ want."

Patrick tried to feign nonchalance and said, "If you were a chick, we'd be dating by now."

"If _I_ was? Why can't you be the girl?"

"Because it was my analogy."

Joe just looked at him.

"I can negotiate."

There wasn't an actual response, but after an awkward, nose-bumping moment, there was a little kissing instead.

It was definitely going to take some practice.

\---

If Joe were to blog his reaction to that afternoon, it would have been nothing but incoherent keymashing.

Apparently, kissing Patrick was okay, now (it was more than 'okay', as far as Joe was concerned: it was totally awesome). Patrick wasn't creeped out. He didn't think Joe was weird. They hadn't really drawn any parameters for _when_ kissing Patrick was okay, but Joe hoped that the answer was Quite Often. He kept touching at his chest where he could remember what Patrick's felt like, all warm against him. He felt breathless, and like he wanted to run around in circles and jump on his bed at the same time.

They didn't make out – that would probably be taking it out of the realms of Really Special Friends to, Kind of Gay, Dude – it was just kissing. And seriously, they'd shared stuff and done things together all of their lives, pretty much, why should they stop now?

He went to sleep with a smile on his face for the first time in weeks.

\---

That summer was probably the happiest of Patrick's life. No school, no paranoia about his friendship with Joe, minimal awkwardness about being so close. They'd come through the first year of high school relatively unscathed, so there wasn't much to worry about. They just got on with it. Joe met his band, and admitted that they seemed okay. He even came to a couple of tiny shows they played, although the other guys eyed him strangely and one asked if "that kid's on something". Other people just didn't get Joe the way Patrick did. So what if he was goofy and kind of shy? He was smart and interesting and Patrick wouldn't have wanted him to be any other way.

By the time they started sophomore year, Patrick thought there was nothing left for him to worry about – at least for a while. He hadn't banked on Joe returning to school and meeting some kid called Andrew in the year above, whose older brother was in a band. Or six. Suddenly, Joe was spending time with him after classes, in some kind of club, and he started _mentioning_ him a lot. 'Andrew says...', 'Oh – Andrew and I were hanging out and...'

Patrick didn't like Andrew. And he was pretty sure that if he ever actually _met him_ , he'd really hate him.

So when they were chatting on IM, one evening, and Joe posted an exchange from another conversation to show him, Patrick really started to get annoyed.

 **Trohoho84 (20:19:18):** skulldoodle (20:15:01): Peter has a show tommorow  
Trohoho84 (20:15:08): Cool  
skulldoodle (20:15:37): Want 2 come?  
skulldoodle (20:16:44): He says u soundc ool  
skulldoodle (20:16:57): cool.  
Trohoho84 (20:17:41): am I old enuogh?  
skulldoodle (20:18:01): yes but ur with me neway  
**Trohoho84 (20:20:03):** do u think i should go?  
**XstumpyX (20:23:57):** up 2 u.  
**Trohoho84 (20:24:34):** pETE is way cool  
**XstumpyX (20:25:02):** lucky Pete.  
**Trohoho84 (20:25:34):** i think im g  
**Trohoho84 (20:25:48):** onna go  
XstumpyX signed off at 20:26:13.

\---

Patricia lifted her eyes from her magazine and looked toward the ceiling as a door slammed violently. She sighed heavily and shook her head.

"Here we go again..."

\---

The room was dark and slightly smoky when Joe walked in behind Andrew, feeling like he probably shouldn't be there. Like he was going to be caught and thrown out. But in the main hall where the stage stood, already set up and waiting, there were other kids. Most of them looked older than Joe, but he felt a little bit – just a little – like maybe he was in the right place, after all. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets, self-conscious of the large black Xes recently scrawled on them. They made him feel really young – at least until he saw a dude of about 25 with large, ornate Xes tattooed just above his wristbones.

Suddenly, Andrew had jerked back and was making alarmed gurgling noises with a dude's arm hooked around his neck as he rubbed his knuckles into his scalp.

"PETE GET THE FUCK OFF!" he yelled, punching the guy in the arm a few times until he was released, and suddenly looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"Pussy," Pete snorted, pinching his cheek roughly, instead.

Andrew just elbowed him and said, "Pete. This is Joe. Joe, this is my asshole brother, Peter."

"Hi," Joe nodded self-consciously, because Pete was clearly _much_ older than him and he was good looking and radiated cool like some kind of beacon.

Pete just looked at him with a half-smile on his face for a while, and then tilted his head. "First gig?"

"No," Joe told him, rolling his eyes like it was the stupidest idea ever. It wasn't his first gig – Patrick's first show had been his first gig; this just happened to be about four times the size of the only venues he'd ever been to. With a lot more college age kids around.

"So, who are you into or whatever?"

Joe blushed, thinking that any band he could possibly mention would probably be uncool and make him look like an idiot. "Pretty much everything," he shrugged, looking away. "I'm pretty into old skool metal and stuff..."

"Seriously?"

"Um... yeah?"

"You don't look the type, kind of."

"Sorry."

Pete gazed at him for a minute and then broke into a huge grin that exposed a large number of disturbingly white teeth.

"Come with me. I want to introduce you to someone."

\---

Patrick did not enjoy being woken up early on Saturday mornings, so when he was jumped on by an irrationally excited best friend at ten in the morning, he started the day in a bad mood.

"Dude! Dude, wake up!" Joe was grinning, ruffling his hair wildly.

"Get bent," Patrick complained, pulling his pillow over his head and trying to go back to sleep. He'd have to bitch at him mom for letting Joe in, later.

"Oh – my shirt!" Joe said suddenly, sitting back and picking it up. "This is the one I gave you when we had the water fight, right?"

Patrick lifted his pillow and looked at the shirt in his hands apprehensively. "Oh. Yeah." How the fuck did he explain that it was under his pillow?

"Cool. You can keep it if you want. I think you pretty much like, won it..."

Patrick didn't respond. 

"But dude – you're not gonna believe this – "

"We have to go back to 1955?"

"Hah. No. Yesterday! It was totally fucking awesome!"

Patrick's pillow went back over his head and he mumbled, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, man! Pete is so, so cool – and he has this friend called Hurley who plays drums and he's like _insanely_ smart and you'd so love them, man!"

"Good to know."

"You would! You have to meet them or something. Pete's like... he's like an asshole, but it's just to be funny and Andy – that's Hurley's other name – Andy's like... he's vegetarian and he's an anarchist and he has some totally amazing tattoos. They're like... man! He showed me this one on his chest for his mom and it's like _huge_."

"Smart."

"And it was so cool, because after they played they took me and Andrew into the backstage room – which was basically just like this one room with graffiti and stuff on the walls and everybody's kit in there – and I kind of jammed with them and stuff. Andy thinks I'm pretty good, and he says I should come to more shows! How amazing is this, dude?"

"Amazing. Right. Can you go away and let me sleep?" Patrick snapped, even though Joe would have cycled all the way to his house first thing on a Saturday morning to tell him this, and was obviously really excited.

"Huh?"

Patrick lifted his pillow and scowled up at him. "It's Saturday. I'm tired. I want to sleep. Go."

Joe blinked down at him and climbed off the bed. "Sorry. I just... I wish you'd been there, dude – it was amazing. You have to come next time."

Next time. Already 'next time'. Fuck them all.

"Seriously. I want you to come. You'll like it, I know you will. And I mean, if they like me, they'll definitely like you!"

"Don't count on it."

"They will! You're pretty much cooler than any of them anyway, because I mean – you're only fifteen and you're in a band. They're all like, way older."

Patrick just looked at him from half under his pillow, trying to figure out if Joe was just saying that, because it made his stomach all twisty to hear it.

Joe crawled back onto the bed again and elbowed him until he moved over, laying down on the blankets next to him.

"One day, if you ever stop being in PDI, we should like, do a band together... it'd be awesome."

\---

"So, when do we get to meet this little buddy of yours, or whatever?" Pete asked around a mouthful of pizza, the day before New Year's Eve.

"He's kind of shy," Joe shrugged, reaching for a slice while Andy grimaced and peeled the cheese from his own, muttering about 'fucking _animal products_ , man'.

"I'm not _that_ fucking scary!" Pete laughed, kicking Andy when he looked at him dubiously.

"I just... like, don't take this the wrong way, dude, but I don't think he wants to. You're my friends, you know, and... he's kind of weird about it. I don't really know his friends, either."

Pete just looked at him curiously, chewing.

"How long have you known this guy again?" Andy asked, carefully putting pieces of vegetable back on the pizza base.

"Forever, basically."

For some reason, Pete always grinned when Joe said things with prominent 's' sounds in them. It was kind of annoying.

"Since kindergarten. Our moms are like best friends, too."

"Do you still actually have anything in common, kind of? 'Cause I don't think I'd even fucking know what to say to someone I knew in kindergarten."

"He's my best friend," Joe shrugged. "I know him like, better than anyone else on the planet, pretty much. It's like, my whole life that I can remember, he's been there. And we're just into the same stuff. He's... pretty awesome, I guess." He didn't mention the part about the kissing and holding hands.

"Are you like, in love with this dude or something, man?" Pete teased. "You fucking talk about him all the time."

Joe flipped him off, but he knew he was blushing. It may have been a stupid question, but he could still remember the days when people called them fags in Elementary school and he didn't want to go back there. They weren't fags – they just didn't see the point of girls, that was all.

"So, if you like, started dating some chick he wouldn't get pissy?"

"Patrick gets pissy when I hang out with _anyone_ that isn't Patrick."

"Oooh, possessive, huh?"

"Fuck off, dude."

Pete just laughed, but now Joe was thinking about it and that wasn't cool.

\---

Kevin was getting ready to pick up some girl for a New Year's Eve party when Patrick bumped into him, half-dressed, ironing his shirt in the kitchen.

"Woah, dude, she must be special if you're actually _ironing_ shit."

"Not that you'd know anything about girls or anything," Kevin retorted, squirting him with the water in the spray bottle.

"Dick. And seriously, man, girls are way too much trouble. I have better things to do with my time."

"Like Joe?"

"Yes, actually – he thinks they're as much as a waste of time as I do. Because they are."

"I meant Joe is one of the things you have to do with your time, stooopid."

"That's not even funny."

"True, though."

"Whatever."

"Okay, so – who do you spend all your time with?"

"Joe. Obviously."

"And who is the first person you tell when something cool happens."

"Joe. Because he's my best friend."

"Who do you take to the movies when something comes out that you wanna see?"

"Generally speaking, Joe wants to see them too, so..."

"If me and Joe are hanging off a cliff, who do you save first."

"Joe. He's lighter than you and he can help pull you up. That's a fucking dumb question."

"I hate to break this to you, little brother, but you're one game of tonsil hockey from Joe being your girlfriend."

Patrick picked up his soda and flipped him off as he left the room. They'd already done the tonsil hockey. Normally, when they kissed it was just vague little pecks. Occasionally there'd be a little, tiny bit of tongue, but nothing intense. And then, one afternoon it'd had just gone a little further. Gotten a little more intense. It wasn't supposed to happen and Patrick had put it down to the vast quantities of sugar they'd consumed; they didn't talk about it afterward and they sure as hell didn't label it 'Making Out'. It was just a pretty steep learning curve.

But what if... what if Kevin was right and what they were doing wasn't exactly within the realms of Really Close Friends, anymore? What then? Should they stop? Should Patrick just be really careful about not letting it go too far? Did Joe think that Patrick was pushing for more than he should have been? Shit.

How could he ask about something they didn't even talk about? 'Oh, by the way, Joe, am I, y'know, making you feel weird when I stick my tongue down your throat? And anyway, can we stop doing this thing we never talk about because I'm scared it's kind of making us gay?'

That wouldn't sound at all stupid, would it? No, he'd just have to back off. And back off carefully, because the last thing he needed was the whole No Touching thing to rear its head again. He wished he'd never said a word to Kevin, now.

\---

Cathie was sitting in the kitchen, writing out her husband's Valentine's card at the table, when Joe walked in looking for a snack. He wandered over and looked at the card, opening a packet of chips.

"You still send each other those?" he asked, sounding like he thought it was totally inappropriate for people of _their age_ to be at all romantic.

"Yes, believe it or not, we do."

"Oh."

"You know," she began, smiling as she remembered, "this would be ten years since you got into trouble at kindergarten for sending a certain little boy a card."

Joseph blushed and put down his chips on the top of the fridge while he poured himself some juice.

"I hope you've bought him something," she teased.

"Yeah, mom, I got him like, a dozen roses and like, super expensive chocolates," Joe told her, completely deadpan. "But I ate them. And the chocolates melted."

"Gosh, Patty's going to have a heartbroken young man on her hands tomorrow!"

"Oh, in that case, get me the paste and I'll make him a card," he replied, smirking at her over his glass.

"I will."

"Funny."

"I'll bet Patrick would think so!" Cathie laughed, standing up and kissing his forehead as she edged past.

Twenty minutes later, Joe wandered into the living room and nonchalantly asked, "Hey, mom? Where do you like, keep Sammy's art stuff?"

\---

It seemed kind of dumb to be nervous about giving Patrick the card, because it was just a joke. Patrick would totally get it. 

Except, when they got upstairs to his room, and Joe pulled it out of his bag – there was no envelope because it was handmade and didn't fit into them even if he'd had one – Patrick turned a really weird colour and laughed nervously.

"Mom made me do it," Joe told him, trying not to make it sound like he was making excuses.

"Thanks." Patrick turned around and put it on his chest of drawers without even reading the inside, and sat against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest.

"It was supposed to be funny."

"Yeah. It is, dude," Patrick said, and he clearly didn't think so.

It was then that Joe noticed the other card – sitting on top of his TV. It was shop bought and scattered with pastel hearts of assorted sizes and colours. Only a girl would buy a card like that. Obviously. Because dudes didn't send Valentine's cards to other dudes, did they?

"Someone beat me to it, huh?" he asked, trying not to sound disappointed, because why should he? His was only a joke. If he felt a little sick it was because he'd over eaten at dinner.

"Yeah. Girl from school."

Joe nodded and picked his own card back up, opening it and re-reading the message inside. He put it back down and thought about maybe saying he felt sick and going home. It wasn't even a lie.

"You get any?" Patrick asked.

"Nope."

"Oh." 

Not even a joke one.

"You know what? I'm feeling kind of crappy... I think I'm gonna head home."

"But you only just got here..."

"I know... I just... I thought it'd be okay, but it's kind of not, so..."

"You want my mom to give you a ride home? You can pick your bike up tomorrow, or something."

"No. No, it's cool." He zipped up his rucksack and headed for the door without bothering to say goodbye. He could hear the creak of the bed and Patrick trotting after him, but he waited until they got to the front door before he said anything.

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

He took a deep breath and looked up at him, then just shook his head. "Take care getting home, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

\---

Pete was kind of busy when his mom yelled up the stairs that he had a visitor. What kind of dick showed up at 8.30pm on Valentine's Day, anyway? He left his girlfriend with the movie they were supposed to be watching (and pretty much hadn't been) and slouched down the stairs to find his mother trying to feed Joe brownies.

"Dude. What're you doing here?" he asked, seeing straight away that whatever it was, it was pretty serious. "You okay, kind of?"

Joe cast Pete's mom a look and shrugged.

"C'mon, man, come down to Momma Pete's Den of Fixing Shit."

He carefully dodged the smack his mother aimed at the back of his head, and guided the kid down to the basement.

"I'm like, really sorry, Pete – I'm not interrupting or anything, am I?"

"Seriously? Yeah. I have a girl in my bed right now, but you look like you're gonna jump off something if we don't have a talk right now, so I think she can handle a little waiting time."

"Oh – no, sorry... I should go. I'm sorry."

"Dude. Sit down and chillax or whatever. What the hell's up, anyway?"

"I was, like... I wasn't going to come here, I was going to kind of like, just go home and stuff. But I just... I was riding home and I like, I don't even know how to explain anything, dude..."

"So, where did you come from?"

"Patrick's."

Suddenly, a whole lot became clear. "Patrick's, huh? On Valentine's day."

"Yeah... but like, that's not the point of anything. We were just hanging out anyway, and... There's... I mean like, a girl."

"He had a girl over?"

"No! No, he had like... a card. From a girl."

"Bummer. Is he dating her, or what? 'Cause if he's dating her, kind of, she'd probably be there."

"No. I don't know... I don't like, _think_ so. But I just like... there's like a huge story and stuff but I left and I was going home and I just, like..."

Pete sat down beside him, perched on the arm of the couch, his feet on the cushions partially under Joe's leg. "You can start from the beginning, dude."

"What, like ten years ago?"

"Ten _years_?"

"In kindergarten, man... we made these cards for each other and like, freaked everyone out. They stopped us playing together and stuff..."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah..."

"That's fucked up."

"Yeah... but like... we both got pissy until they let us start again. And so my mom thought it'd be funny if I made him a card again because it was ten years or whatever, and like... I gave it to him, and he didn't get it."

"You didn't explain, kind of? I mean, he was what, six? He could've forgotten, dude, I don't think it's gonna ruin your friendship, or whatever. It's just a card."

"No, but... coming here, I was thinking and I just... I don't. I mean, if he starts dating this girl, or something, dude..."

Joe looked up at him so desperately, that Pete didn't think it needed much more elaboration.

"You figure some shit out on the way, kind of?"

He really looked like he was going to cry. "He's my best friend, Pete."

"Look, you never let me meet the kid or whatever, but he's way possessive about you and shit. Don't you think that like, he might, y'know... be cool with it if you figured stuff out or something?"

Joe swallowed and shook his head, rubbing his eye with his wrist.

"No?"

"He freaked out about me touching him, before."

Pete had to take a moment to figure out whether he was just some kind of pervert that that didn't sound right to him. "Er, what?"

"I don't know, dude... I don't even want to like, try to explain it or anything. It sounds weird... and like, it _wasn't_ weird, but it feels like it is, now..."

"Fair...enough. But are we kind of like talking about slap on the shoulder 'touching' or what, man?"

Joe sniffed and nodded. "I guess. Any touching. He said it made things awkward and stuff, but then he was the one who started the whole kissing thing..."

"Kissing thing?" Pete echoed, raising his eyebrows. " _Kissing_. Dude, how is this not obvious?"

"Because we've just always been like this!"

"Like what?"

"Close, dude. We've always been really close. We always figured people would find it weird and stuff, but like, it never used to be, for us... and now... It wasn't weird before, because it was just because we were friends, and now, today, I'm like... I'm thinking that like all this time I've been into this because of other things and it makes the whole thing weird!"

"So, wait – how long has this been going on? How long have you and the dude been kind of... whatever?"

Joe swallowed and seemed to take a minute to think about this. "Always, I guess. We got busted for holding hands in Elementary school... he punched out a girl for kissing me as well, actually."

"When?!"

"When I was eight."

Pete couldn't suppress a laugh at that mental image. "Hands off his man, bitch."

"Fuck off, Pete."

"I'm sorry, dude, it's just kind of funny or whatever."

"For _you_ , maybe."

"Sorry, man. Carry on."

"We had to go to different high schools and stuff – senior, I mean; we went to the same junior high – and right before, my dad took us camping with his brother, and we like... we were both pretty cut up about not going to the same place and shit, and we were like... just talking about it and we kissed a little bit. Not like... I mean, nothing kind of like _hot_ or anything because I was like thirteen, but... yeah."

Pete raised his eyebrows. "And like... you've been doing it ever since?"

"No, man – no, we kind of just... we agreed that it was okay when we started talking again after we stopped for like a month or something, when he got upset about me touching him."

"So, wait. He got upset about you touching him, and then you made up, and started making out and – "

"It's not making out!" Joe corrected indignantly. "It's – okay... maybe one time it was a little bit like... yeah. But not mostly. Mostly it's just kissing. Like, 'hey, you're my best friend and you're awesome'."

"Dude. Okay. That doesn't happen. You don't kiss someone for being your best friend."

"I've seen you kiss Chris."

"Dude. That's _different_. Trust me on that, kind of."

Joe gave a despairing sigh and shook his head, cupping it in his hands. "This can't happen, Pete. It can't."

"You're not the first guy in the world to have a crush on a friend, man. Not even the first for it to be a crush on another dude."

"Whatever..."

"Hey. Don't beat yourself up. Go home, get some sleep and if you think you're still kind of like, into him in the morning, or whatever, let me know. We'll figure shit out. Promise, bro."

He made sure the kid was capable of balancing on two wheels and waved him off before heading back upstairs. His girlfriend had fallen asleep.

\---

 **XstumpyX (22:07:40):** Where did u go?  
**Trohoho84 (22:08:03):** home  
**XstumpyX (22:09:17):** that's not what ur mom siad  
**XstumpyX (22:12:13):** Joe?  
**Trohoho84 (22:12:32):** doesnt matter  
**XstumpyX (22:13:41):** What's wrong  
**XstumpyX (22:13:43):** ?  
**Trohoho84 (22:18:24):** NOTHIN.G  
**XstumpyX (22:18:41):** lies.  
**Trohoho84 (22:22:48):** yu'll just hate me so leaev it alone ok.  
**XstumpyX (22:25:41):** not OK, no.  
**Trohoho84 (22:26:49):** oh well.  
**XstumpyX (22:27:20):** don't b an asshole  
Trohoho84 went idle at 22:34:13.  
**XstumpyX (22:35:06):** OK fine 4get it. hAve a nice life.  
**Trohoho84 (22:35:12):** aiwt  
**Trohoho84 (22:35:27):** wait  
**XstumpyX (22:36:30):** why bother??  
**XstumpyX (22:37:51):** speak or i'm loggin goff  
**Trohoho84 (22:38:29):** I went 2 c Pete  
**XstumpyX (22:39:00):** so?  
**Trohoho84 (22:40:13):** ru dating that gilr?  
**Trohoho84 (22:40:18):** irl  
**Trohoho84 (22:40:27):** GIRL fuck it  
**XstumpyX (22:41:22):** wtf? no.  
**Trohoho84 (22:41:54):** do u want 2?  
**XstumpyX (22:42:26):** why?  
**Trohoho84 (22:46:10):** I do.  
**XstumpyX (22:47:03):** u dont even kno wher  
**XstumpyX (22:49:44):** joE?  
**XstumpyX (22:51:13):**?  
**XstumpyX (22:53:21):** hey  
**XstumpyX (22:54:07):** wtf dude?  
**Trohoho84 (22:58:34):** gtg  
**Trohoho84 (22:58:47):** sorry  
**XstumpyX (22:59:02):** why?  
Trohoho84 signed off at 22:59:17.

\---

Joe put Patrick on 'block' so it looked like he'd signed off, and went over to bury his face in his pillow. This sucked so much.

What was he even supposed to say? 'Hey, Patrick – turns out Mrs Watson was right all along!' or 'Hey, Patrick, next time we kiss can it not be because we're best friends?'

How could he say anything to him at all? They were best friends. What if it ruined everything? What if Patrick had re-read the conversation and - ?

"Joe, honey? Phonecall," his mother's voice said softly through the closed door.

"Tell him I'm asleep."

"It's Patrick."

"I know. Tell him I'm asleep or something. Anything."

"Are you - ?"

"MOM!"

"Okay, okay..." He could hear her voice through the door, because she obviously had the portable phone, which meant Patrick probably heard everything. "Honey... no, honey, he's sleeping. Well. Well, I think he means he's _trying_ to sleep." There was a long pause. "Okay."

Joe looked up as the door opened and prayed his mother didn't look at his computer.

"What?"

"He says he wants to speak to you, honey, he says it's important."

Joe took the phone out of her hand, hung up, and handed it back to her. "I'm asleep."

His mother just looked down at him in dismay, and then sat herself down beside him, uninvited. "Sweetheart?"

"Mom..."

"It's because of the card, isn't it?"

"Forget it, mom, I'm sick – I want to sleep."

"With the light on? Don't lie to me, Joey, what's wrong?"

Joe just buried his face in his pillow and refused to look up again until she rubbed his back and stood up. 

"Do you want me to switch out the light?"

"Whatever."

"Honey?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry if it was because of the card. I didn't mean to upset anyone, I just thought it would be cute after everything..."

"I know. It doesn't matter."

A few minutes after she closed the door, his email pinged. He couldn't bring himself to read it.

\---

Patrick sat up until after 1am, refreshing his Yahoo! Mail over and over, waiting for a response. His mom came down for some water and made him go to bed by switching the whole machine off at the wall and threatening to ban him from it on weeknights, but that was the only reason he left at all.

He couldn't sleep. He felt like he'd been drinking beakers of acid from chemistry or something and his heart was thudding so hard in his chest it actually hurt. He didn't know what he'd done. He didn't _understand_ what he'd done to make Joe lie to him and then not want to talk to him. Again. They were supposed to be close, and yeah, maybe Joe was a little bit jealous that someone liked Patrick, but that wasn't Patrick's fault. He said himself that he didn't get any cards, and if Patrick had thought about it, it would have done something for a joke himself – but even that wasn't the same. He knew that. He just wanted girls to like him, and Patrick didn't understand why they didn't, because Joe was... well. If Joe was a girl...

But he wasn't, so that was kind of a moot point.

The worst part, for Patrick, was that after that, instead of hanging out with Patrick – with the one person who should have been able to make him feel better – he went to that jerk from the band. Perhaps Patrick just wasn't good enough for him, any more. If he went to Pete fucking Wentz when he felt bad about something, now, where did that leave him?

Underneath it all, though, was the slightly terrifying feeling that maybe there was something else going on that Patrick didn't want to consider. Joe was – as Kevin had proved already – the most important person in the world for him. He was happy the way they were – with everything about the way they were – he didn't want it to change. He didn't want to complicate things, so he wrote off anything else. Joe was jealous of him, and he'd found better people to spend time with, so Patrick just focused on being mad and hurt by that, instead.

The next day, he was going to see Joe, and they were going to figure this bullshit out for the last time.

\---

Joe didn't want to stay in the house when Patrick showed up. He made him put his bike in the garage and they took a walk down to the playground a couple of blocks away, sitting on abandoned swings. He had a pretty good idea that they were going to have to talk about things he didn't want his mom to overhear, even if he was pretty sure she knew already. She'd given him such a sympathetic hug and kissed his forehead before he'd left the house; he kind of just wanted to curl into her shoulder and let her hug him like he was still a little boy.

They sat almost in silence for a while, Joe with the hood of his Parka up and his arms hooked around the chains while Patrick sat sideways and swung gently back and forth.

"So, y'know," he began, and Joe didn't look at him, just rubbed his eye, "what the hell was last night about?"

Joe's stomach dropped and he took a deep, miserable breath. He knew this was going to be difficult; he didn't know quite how much, though. He started with a shrug.

"If you're mad that I got a card, I didn't ask for that. It's not even like I want to date her or anything..."

"I know."

"So what is _wrong_ with you? Why do you have to be so fucking weird? I mean, if you can go and tell that dick, why can't you tell _me_? Who actually is your best friend, now, Joe? I mean -"

"You are..."

"So what's the deal?!"

"You don't want to know... you think you do, but you don't."

"Why? What can be so fucking bad that you have to go to Pete fucking Wentz before me?"

Joe gave something between a snort and a sigh and buried his face in the crook of his arm.

"Joe?"

There was nothing he could really say to make it sound better. "I'm sorry."

"What for?!"

"For screwing everything up."

Patrick stopped swinging suddenly and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Joe closed his eyes and groaned helplessly. He didn't want to say this; not if it was going to ruin everything. But Patrick deserved the truth. They couldn't keep doing this – not the kissing, or the touching or any of that – if Patrick still thought it was just friendly. Because Joe felt like a fake and a cheat already, as though he'd been conning Patrick into this under false pretences and what kind of friend did that?

"I really like you."

Patrick laughed a little, "Yeah, dude, me too."

" _No_ , you don't get it." 

"Don't I?"

Joe shook his head.

"You want to explain?"

"Not really..."

"So we're just gonna sit around here acting uncomfortable and you're gonna go and talk to Pete instead?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I just told you and you thought I was joking."

"What?"

Joe turned his head a little to look at him, and Patrick was very, very pale. Joe's blood ran cold.

"What do you mean?"

"I guess... I guess that when people called us fags they were like... half right."

Patrick didn't say anything for several moments. "That's not funny."

"Yeah, I kind of know that."

"So... what are you telling me, dude? You're gay or something?"

Joe actually felt like someone had stuck a pin in his heart and popped it like a party balloon. He swallowed and nodded jerkily.

"And the whole..." Patrick trailed off and suddenly started to look nauseous. "But you kissed me."

"I know."

"Like... a lot."

"I know."

Patrick honestly looked like he was going to be sick.

"Are you okay, dude?"

"You... we were supposed to be _friends_ , Joe!"

"I know – and I like, I wasn't... I didn't do that because I like you like that, dude – I didn't _know_ I did!"

Getting off the swing, Patrick folded his arms across himself and backed away. "You should have told me!"

"How could I tell you what I didn't know?"

"I'm _not like that_!"

"If you aren't then why were you doing as much of the kissing as me?"

"Because we were _friends_ , Joe! This was supposed to be a – an _us_ thing! About us being friends, not about... it's because we're friends and we've been friends _forever_."

"But it's not _normal_!"

Patrick turned around and stared at him, mouth open, and then kicked a bunch of woodchips at him. "Fuck you! This is _seriously_ messed up and I can't believe you didn't even... fuck. I have to go. I have to go."

"Patrick, dude, wait – "

"No! I don't want to wait! I want to go home and brush my teeth or something, because oh yeah, my best friend has been putting his tongue down my throat and now it turns out it wasn't the only thing he wanted to put in my mouth!"

Joe stared at him, aghast. "What the fuck? Dude – I didn't..."

"How would you fucking feel if I did this to you?"

"But I _didn't_! I didn't _know_!"

"You didn't know?! You could at least _admit it_ , you fucking coward!"

"Patrick – " Joe started toward him, wanting to calm him down, not wanting to let his best friend be this mad at him, but Patrick moved away quickly.

"Don't. I don't want you anywhere ne – just. Don't fucking touch me."

A little voice at the back of Joe's mind was telling him he should have expected this. He should have, because they had an agreement and nothing else.

"I told you you'd hate me..."

Patrick just looked somewhere in the middle of Joe's chest. "Yeah. And you were right about ruining everything, too."

 

Patrick was glad his mom wasn't home when he got in, because the sound of him trashing his room would probably have freaked her out almost as much as hearing him cry into his best friend's t-shirt.

\---

Neither Cathie nor Patricia really understood what had happened when the boys stopped speaking, although there were unspoken theories she was convinced they shared. Patrick flat-out refused to celebrate his sixteenth birthday at all. He pulled the wrapping from his presents, said 'Thank you' and kissed his mom on the cheek, and then went back to his room, leaving them all on the floor.

From what Cathie had said, Joe had been walking around in his own little world, barely acknowledging anyone. When someone tried to ask him about Patrick he walked out of the room; while anyone asking Patrick about Joe was told to 'mind their own fucking business' – even Patty. Patrick had never cursed at her like that before.

She knew they'd had fights in the past, but this time felt so different; she didn't think they were going to be able to have some water fight in Cathie's yard and patch things back together, this time.

\---

Andy held out his Cheetos for Joe to share, and tilted his head when Joe scrunched his nose and looked away.

"You okay, dude?"

Joe just nodded.

"Don't seem it." He dropped down onto Pete's couch beside the kid and gave him a nudge. 

"It's nothing... just... dumb, that's all."

"It's getting you down, though, huh?"

"Just. Just sentimental crap, man."

"Shoot. I could use a laugh."

Joe half-smiled and shrugged. "It's kind of like... my ex-best friend's birthday, today."

"That Patrick kid you used to know?"

"Yeah. That Patrick kid... He's seventeen today."

"Miss him?"

Joe just dropped his gaze to his lap and shrugged again.

"You never, I mean... have you thought about getting in contact with the guy? It's been a hell of a long time since you talked about him..."

"Can't. Not after a year."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. I mean, like, he stopped talking to me for a reason."

"And there's no such thing as water under the bridge?"

Laughing miserably, Joe muttered, "Not that bridge."

"Jesus, kid, what did you _do_?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh, c'mon, man – this matters or you wouldn't be telling me about it."

"Andy, I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Sorry, dude. But I think you need to suck it up and apologise. Whatever happened. Just apologise and let it go."

Joe shook his head. "I'd just get humiliated. He's not gonna forgive me."

\---

A few weeks later, Joe was in Borders looking for a CD Andy said they had there and which he hadn't been able to find locally. He was getting kind of annoyed, because some ass seemed to have bought it before he could get his hands on it.

"Can I he – ? Shit. It's... _shit_."

Joe froze.

"Sorry. Didn't... I didn't recognise you with, uh. With the hair... But. Yeah. If you need help you can get assistance at the register."

Joe just nodded and stared at the Interpol CD in his hands. "Didn't know you worked here..."

"Yeah... well. See you around."

Not likely. Patrick clearly wanted to be out of there sometime around, oh... yesterday. Joe put the CD back down and left the store.

\---

Patrick spent the next twenty minutes in the stock room having an episode. He couldn't breathe right and he was sweating suddenly, even though the air con was on full-blast.

Joe was here. He'd _spoken_ to him – said real, actual words to his face. He couldn't quite believe it. Not after such a long, long time. The last time they'd laid eyes on each other was across the bar at a Racetraitor show. Joe had been there with the drummer – Andy? – and Patrick had been there with the guys from his recently defunct band; he'd looked up from putting his change back in his wallet to find huge, round eyes staring at him pitifully. He'd still been angry at the time – livid, even – and it was all he could do not to throw his drinks across the bar at him. Instead, he'd handed over the cans to his friends, and left. After just a couple of months it was all still too fresh to deal with rationally. It still felt like a betrayal – like his whole world wasn't what he'd been led to believe all his life – and it was all Joe's fault. He'd wanted to batter Joe until he understood how much he'd hurt him. Make him take the responsibility for ruining it all.

But now, over a year since they'd last spoken, it turned out that he wasn't angry anymore – just painfully disappointed. Maybe, in a way, he was a little bit heartbroken that everything they'd grown up with had been tarnished because Joe couldn't keep his mouth shut or control his feelings well enough to just let sleeping dogs lie. Nothing had _needed_ to be said. They'd always agreed that it was due to the weird things growing up did to people, and he'd never felt the need to tell Joe about the jerking off and the t-shirt or anything. 

He pushed his fingers through his hair and leaned back against the shelves.

Joe looked so different, now. He'd bleached his hair yellow blond, and he was thinner – _taller_ – and... Yeah. He'd changed a lot. Patrick couldn't help wondering how much he'd missed. What was going on in Joe's life since they stopped talking. Their moms still saw each other all the time, but he'd stayed clear of talk about Joe because it was too depressing. As angry as he'd been for so long, he didn't want to think that maybe Joe had just got on with things; that at the end of the day, and although a whole lot had changed in Patrick's life, not having Patrick around might not have been that much of an issue after all.

What if not having Patrick around had forced him to make more friends and get closer to that Wentz asshole? What if he was better off, now, than he had been when they spent all their time together? Patrick's life had barely changed, except there was no one he could guarantee always wanted to spend time with him. Nobody he wanted to spend all his time with. Not even people he logically _should_.

\---

It wasn't until several days later, when he logged into his old email account – relegated after he signed up with a new username – that Joe found the email. Apparently, Patrick was still using the same one.

_"hey._  
so. seeing you was kind of weird. been a long time i guess.  
I don't know what to say to you. its been a weird year.  
all i want to do is say sorry for being the biggest asshole on earth.  
i know its too late and everything but i neded to say it.  
p" 

Joe read the email eleven times before he reached for his mouse and clicked 'reply'.

_'Forget it.'_

He was just logging into his IM when the tiny pop-up in the corner of the screen informed him that he had another email.

His heart was racing.

_'ok. sorry i said anything. Just wanted you to know.'_

"What?! No!" he scrambled for his mouse and hated how slow it seemed suddenly.

_'I meant it's forgotten dude. Not forget it.'_

He only waited a few minutes before there was another pop-up.

_'Hard to tell onlime. Couldn't blame you if you didnt. How ru anyway?'_

_'OK i guess. Depends if your still mad at me.'_

_'cAN i IM you'_

Joe's heart was racing so hard he felt slightly delirious. He was talking to Patrick! Talking to him for the first time in over a year and he was apologising so maybe – maybe it would all stop and they'd be friends again. Maybe. God, he hoped so.

_'If you want.'_

Accept message from XstumpyX?! Of course he'd fucking accept!

 **XstumpyX (23:01:43):** hi.  
**Trohoho84 (23:02:03):** hi.  
**XstumpyX (23:02:55):** dont know what to say.  
**XstumpyX (23:03:12):** Stupid huh?  
**Trohoho84 (23:03:23):** me either  
**Trohoho84 (23:03:57):** id ont think it's stupid.  
**XstumpyX (23:05:23):** how ru?  
**Trohoho84 (23:05:41):** ok. u?  
**XstumpyX (23:06:25):** i'm an asshole.  
**Trohoho84 (23:07:14):** pretty much. But i knew that already.  
**XstumpyX (23:07:33):** no, joe – im serious  
**XstumpyX (23:07:50):** u should hate me.  
**Trohoho84 (23:08:03):** Why?  
**XstumpyX (23:09:01):** u know why.  
**Trohoho84 (23:09:47):** myabe  
**Trohoho84 (23:11:04):** maybe yuo were right  
**XstumpyX (23:11:56):** no i was an asshole. even if it was tru e you didnt deserve it.  
**Trohoho84 (23:13:02):** i ddn't know when we were doing it u know.  
**Trohoho84 (23:13:08):** i swear1  
**Trohoho84 (23:13:52):** u can hate me to if you want.  
**XstumpyX (23:14:00):** tried that.  
**Trohoho84 (23:14:03):** heh  
**XstumpyX (23:15:12):** i'm really sorry.  
**XstumpyX (23:16:06):** im gonna sound like agirl but i miss u dude.  
**Trohoho84 (23:16:58):** do you?  
**XstumpyX (23:17:29):** dumb huh  
**Trohoho84 (23:18:10):** not reallu  
**Trohoho84 (23:18:14):** really*  
**Trohoho84 (23:19:22):** i mean i did too  
**XstumpyX (23:19:59):** : )  
**Trohoho84 (23:23:23):** so how's stuff? 

When Joe finally collapsed on to his bed, just after three in the morning, he thought he was going to explode with happiness. They'd been talking for four hours. FOUR HOURS! He didn't even know what they talked about or what was going on in Patrick's life – if he looked back at the conversation they probably did discuss it, but all he could think of was the fact that he finally, _finally_ spoke to Patrick again. He almost wanted to cry, he was so happy; he wanted to run to his mom and dad's room and wake up his mom and tell her that they were talking again, that Patrick wanted to meet up and – and go out, get something to eat and _hang out_ and it was awesome! They'd even agreed when (6.30pm, next day; Thursday) and where (the pizza place next to the Cineplex where they use to go before films when they were kids). He couldn't believe this was happening. He was almost afraid to go to sleep in case he woke up to find out it was all a dream.

He wasn't sure he could stand that kind of disappointment.

\---

Sitting on the bench outside the pizzeria Patrick's stomach was churning so hard he was almost convinced he was going to puke before they even had a chance to eat anything.

What if this was a bad idea? What if he'd been blinded by the excitement of reclaiming the closeness they'd shared as kids? He didn't even know if Joe now was the same Joe he remembered – a lot could have changed in a year. Maybe they were too different for this to work, and they should have let it go. Perhaps just an apology would have been enough and they should have left it at that. Maybe –

The smile and the nervousness on Joe's face as he strolled across the parking lot toward him were the first indication. The way their awkward, tentative hug sank into one long, grateful moment, just squeezing each other so tight they could hardly breathe, was the other.

Everything might be okay, after all. Maybe.

And, as it happened, Joe hadn't changed. Not really. He kept looking at Patrick like he didn't really believe they were here – that Patrick had showed up at all – and he was quieter than he used to be. But he was still Joe, and he still said the same dorky things. He still made Patrick laugh and think he was the goofiest, most awesome person he'd ever known. He kept finding himself staring; watching him as he talked and feeling small pieces of his memories falling back into place – _you've always laughed like that; I forgot you said 'like' all the time; your lisp is so fucking adorable..._ And yet, even though Patrick spent most of his time fascinated by the rediscovery, he still found time to really, _really_ enjoy himself.

They both had school, and they'd both been up most of the night talking and had to be in classes early that morning, so they started out the evening tired. It wasn't as though they could spend the night hanging out, but it was almost the weekend. Joe was already hinting that he wanted to see him, mentioning that he had nothing to do, except an Arma show he was supposed to go to. When Patrick dropped him home they sat in the car outside the house for another hour, just talking. He didn't want to let it end in case they fucked it up again, but he didn't have a choice, so he leaned over and pulled him into another hug. It felt so, so good, even though Joe went slightly rigid and ducked his head when Patrick's lips accidentally brushed against his cheek as he pulled away. But he smiled, still, and Patrick really, really wished that he wasn't a dude, because it was one of the sweetest things he'd ever seen.

\---

Cathie actually gave a tiny skip of delight when Joe came in that night – after she'd sent him off upstairs, of course. If it wasn't so late she'd have called Patty to tell her the good news. The kids were back together.

\---

Pete took one look at Joe's face and grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Action?" he teased, holding a hand out for a hi-five.

Joe just blushed, smiled coyly and said, "No..."

"I think you're lying, Joejoe."

"I'm not! I just like... I went out with Patrick, last night."

" _Patrick_? That - ? Kindergarten Patrick?"

Joe nodded at him.

"How the fuck did _that_ happen, dude?"

"I think, like... Andy set me up, basically."

"Hurley?! Andy Hurley. Set you up. Are we in a parallel universe _again_?"

"He sent me to look for that Neurosis album in the store Patrick works in."

"And he knows what Patrick looks like, kind of?"

"He's seen him, once."

"And now you're BFFs again."

The look on Joe's face said kind of a lot.

"I need to meet this kid. Bring him to my party."

"Your birthday party?"

"No, dude, my Bar Mitzvah," Pete replied sarcastically, smacking the back of his head. 

"Anti-Semite."

"Homo."

"Tranny."

" _Nerd_."

"Platypus."

"...the fuck?!" Pete burst into laughter and hooked an arm around the kid's neck.

"Weird-looking, venomous little fuckers. Can I seriously bring him?"

"If he's less of a homophobic dickwad, now, kind of. I mean, it might involve sleeping in the same room as _other dudes_ , man."

Joe gave him a funny look.

"What?"

"After the show tonight, he's like... um."

"He's what?"

"He's sleeping over. It's Friday."

"Obviously," Pete smirked.

"It's what we do."

"It's what you _did_."

"Apparently, it's also like, what we _do_."

"Well, _apparently_ , you used to hang around first base a lot, as well, so did you factor that in, or whatever?

Joe gave an awkward laugh and shook his head. "I don't think so, dude."

Pete thumped him on the shoulder and went to find Chris. He wasn't going to argue this one.

\---

Patrick was already sitting on Joe's bed, playing Grand Theft Auto, when he walked in sometime just before eleven. He'd come over after the weekly stock-taking shift ended at nine; Cathie let him in, made him something to eat and then ushered him off to make himself comfortable in Joe's room. There was much more in the way of entertainment up there anyway.

It had been so weird hanging out in Joe's room without him, after so long. When they were kids it would work out that way, sometimes, if Joe had an after-school club or something. And the really weird thing was that it was exactly the same room now as it always had been. There were a few albums in his record collection that Joe would never have looked at eighteen months ago, an especially foppish poster of Morrissey on the wall over his drawers, and the Sega Mega Drive was unplugged to make room for the Playstation; but for the most part, it hadn't changed.

It still smelled like Joe's room (which was, on average, far more bearable than the bedrooms of just about any other teenage boy Patrick had ever met because Joe was obsessive about keeping it that way), and it still smelled like Joe. Inwardly, Patrick laughed at himself – wondering who the fuck else it might smell of... but that led his train of thought toward far more depressing things. Like the idea of Joe having other people in his room. He didn't want Joe to have other people on his room, because that meant he was spending time with them and that made him irrationally jealous. They had lost time to make up. Other people – and who the hell was he kidding? Other _guys_ – being around would just make that harder.

The other thing about the way the room smelled, was that it reminded of how a Slayer shirt he'd once stolen had smelled pressed against his face at night, and all the things he'd associated with it.

"Good show?" he asked, looking up and pausing the game as Joe walked in, before standing up to give him a hug. He scrunched his nose up and rubbed it against his shoulder. "You stink, man."

"It was a hot motherfucker in there, dude. The aircon was broke..."

Patrick grinned against the fabric and wrapped his arms a little tighter. Joe stayed still for a moment, then carefully shrugged him off.

"I guess I better like, get a shower or something... I'll be right back."

Bouncing back onto the bed, Patrick picked up the controller and tried not to think that Joe was hot and sticky and probably getting naked across the hall. Ten minutes later, Joe ducked back in apologetically, wrapped in what could have been a passable beach towel, mumbling that he forgot to get fresh clothes before disappearing back into the bathroom. Patrick bit his lip hard and tried not to think about that either – especially after Joe returned, wearing a loose t-shirt and boxers and sat himself self-consciously next to him, smelling like soap and Joe and maybe a faintly lingering smokiness.

They stayed awake until the early hours – until the sky actually started to turn blue from black – and Patrick kept willing Joe to just fall asleep so he could slip away to the bathroom and relieve the frustration or at least just not have to listen to his voice and feel his skin brushing against Patrick's own; and that, he knew, _wasn't_ normal.

When he crept back into the bedroom a little later, Patrick dragged the comforter from the bed and curled up on the floor against Joe, who rolled a little in his sleep and tucked one arm around him.

\---

 

"Hello, Joe, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mrs Patty."

"How's school?" Patricia asked, as Joe searched through the stack of laundry just inside the door to the utility, trying to find his favourite t-shirt.

"Same as it was on Wednesday..."

"So, still 'basically lame'?"

Joe grinned at her. "Basically." School was totally lame, but everything else was awesome.

"I hear Patrick was invited to a party with you this Saturday..."

"Um. Yeah. My friend Pete's gonna be twenty-two..."

" _Twenty-two_?"

"Yeah, but he's like, twelve really."

"Oh. I see."

Joe just nodded and wondered where his mother was. He always felt a little scared of Patty. Like she was always about to demand to know what he was doing to her child. Which was nothing! Nothing. They were just going to a party together. As friends. Even if the past couple of weeks had been growing progressively more affectionate and even if Joe was starting to wonder if maybe Patrick was trying to tell him something when he signed off his email agreeing to go to the party with, 'Patwick'.

He was trying so hard not to get his hopes up, but it was kind of difficult when Patrick was doing more touching than ever (although absolutely zero kissing, unless he counted the time in the car, when he kind-of-sort-of bumped his cheek) and they were talking on IM every spare moment, or hanging out, or... well. It was just hard not to get his hopes up because more than anything, more than he ever had, he wanted this to come together like endings on one of those movies his mom watched on Hallmark.

"I'm not sure how well Anna is going to take Patrick disappearing to parties with college students," Patty mused, and Joe looked up from re-folding the laundry into careful squares with a sudden shooting pain through his gut.

"Sorry?"

"Anna. He's told you about Anna, _surely_?"

Joe shook his head slowly. "I don't think so..."

"Ohhh," Patty smiled knowingly. "Between the two of us, I think he's a little embarrassed."

"About what?"

"Well, he's starting a little later than the other boy in his year group, so I think he feels a little behind when it comes to dating..."

"Oh." Joe nodded and suddenly didn't feel like talking any more. "Y'know... I think I left my shirt upstairs..." He practically ran to his room.

\---

The look on Joe's face when he got into Patrick's car and saw the t-shirt he was wearing, was classic. He spluttered and turned red, and focused on buckling himself in. He probably forgot he'd ever given it to him.

"No hug, today?" Patrick teased, starting the ignition.

Joe gave him an uncomfortable smile and turned up the stereo. Patrick began to wonder if the shirt was actually the worst idea ever. He'd worn it deliberately – it was from a time when things were awesome, and it was also _Joe's_. He'd had it ever since the waterfight and no matter how long it had been in his possession, the shirt was still Joe's in his mind, even if it didn't smell like him any more.

He felt nervous, but he wasn't sure if it was because they were going to a party, because they were going to a party _together_ , or because the party they were going to together was that Wentz guy's _birthday_ party. He'd never really even seen the guy before, let alone met him, and he had a bad feeling that he was going into this fighting for credibility; he was going to be disliked by default, because Joe had probably told him what had happened to stop them talking. He'd brought a $20 gift card from work as a present-come-peace offering, but he didn't want it to seem like he was trying to crawl up Pete's ass and force him to like him.

Then again, he why would he invite Patrick in the first place if he thought he was going to hate him?

"So, what's the guy like?" he asked Joe, as he locked the car and they set off up the street toward the house.

"You're gonna like, hate his guts," Joe replied, and he didn't sound like he was joking.

The front door was open wide when they reached it, so they just walked into the hall and Patrick followed Joe into the kitchen; he seemed pretty familiar with the layout of the house. He must have spent a lot of time there, which made Patrick feel slightly bitter and put him in a weird frame of mind for seeing a small, dark blur dive out of one room and jump on Joe's back, yelling, "TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHMAAAAAAAN!!"

Joe brightened slightly, and laughed at him, wriggling until the guy – it was Pete, it had to be Pete – slid down and stood up of his own accord.

"How you doing, kid?"

"Um..." Joe's eyes dropped to the floor and then flickered to Patrick's for a second. "I've like, been better, dude, but hey – um... this is Patrick. Patrick... Pete Wentz."

Pete stopped and at looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You're short."

"You're fucking related to Robert Wadlow, though, huh?" Patrick countered.

Pete just smirked again. "So, you kids want something to drink?"

Patrick lifted his wrist to show him the faded 'X' drawn over time and time again in sharpie. Pete turned his arm to draw his attention to curved 'X' with the word 'straightedge' through it. Patrick immediately felt like a twelve year old.

"So, like, soda then, or whatever?"

He didn't like the way Joe snorted and shook his head as he walked into the kitchen and picked up a can of beer, jerking his head for Patrick to follow him into the other room. There were already a lot of people hanging out, a few of whom greeted Joe like they adored the kid. One half-dressed girl in combat boots tried to pull him onto her lap and he had to wrestle himself free, laughing; the moment he looked at Patrick, though, his face dropped again.

Patrick blushed, feeling like all the people in the room were watching him, wondering why this midget was following Joe around when Joe didn't seem to want him there. He wandered back into the kitchen, looking for the soda that Pete had offered by not yet given him and wondering why exactly Joe had told Pete he'd 'been better'.

There was no way he was going to stick this out if he was going to be ignored all night.

\---

Aimee grabbed at him again the second Patrick walked out of the room, and Joe couldn't get free, this time – he struggled frantically to extract himself; he couldn't just leave Patrick wandering around without him, because Jeanae knew the story and Jeanae wasn't entirely known for tact and diplomacy.

Pete walked into the room just as Joe fell off the arm of the easy chair, escaping Aimee's cackling and scrambling to his feet.

"Dude, he's one miserable-ass bitch," Pete said, glancing toward the kitchen.

"He's shy," Joe snapped defensively. 

"Doesn't seem too shy to me, kind of. But I wanna talk to you a second, dude, come out here..." Pete grabbed his arm and dragged him into the hall. "What's up? I saw the look you gave him, man, and if he's being a dick about the whole gay thing again – "

"No, dude... no, it's not that. I just..." Joe looked at the sliver of doorway into the kitchen that he could see into from here, "I found something out, that's all. It's not... actually, it kind of is his fault, but like... he doesn't know I know."

"Huh?"

"You know how I like, rushed home after the Arma show, because he was there?"

"Yeah..."

"He was just like... all over me. I woke up in the night, and he's sleeping on the floor like, right next to me – fucking _spooning_ , dude. Then I'm like, talking to his mom at my house, and she's like, 'Oh, has Patrick told you about his girlfriend?', or whatever." It was a relief to get it out – to be able to say it all to someone, because he'd been half on the verge of tears ever since he spoke to Patty. He hadn't really known what to think about Patrick sleeping with him on the floor, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking that it might have meant something. Then this had happened, and he couldn't even say 'What the fuck, dude?' to Patrick because he was afraid of pushing him away again.

"That is totally fucking not cool," Pete growled, looking kind of a lot like he wanted to walk into the kitchen and punch him out. "Somebody seriously needs some educating in figuring out what he wants, if you know what I mean." He stopped and looked at the unopened can, still in Joe's hand. "Is that was this is about, man? 'Cause you're not gonna find answers in one of those."

"No, but maybe if I get drunk enough and call him out, then I'll have the balls to see it through or something..."

"If anything goes wrong, you fucking call me, dude. I'll get him out of here fucking faster than you can say 'closet case', or whatever."

Joe raised a weak smile and headed for the kitchen.

\---

Patrick watched as Joe picked up another can of beer. He was pretty sure that this was his fourth in the last three hours; Joe didn't generally drink – or, he didn't think so – but tonight he seemed to be on a mission and Patrick was starting to get mad.

"What are you doing?" he hissed through his teeth, trying to prise the can from Joe's fingers without causing a scene in the middle of the crowded kitchen.

"Nothing."

"Yeah. Seems like, dude." He looked around for the nearest door and shoved him toward it. "We need to talk about whatever your problem is, because I'm going fucking home, if this is how it's gonna be. I didn't come here to babysit you, I came here – "

"You talk to your girlfriend like that, dude?" Joe asked, stopping just outside the kitchen door, on the raised deck that led down to the lawn.

Patrick stared at him. "Do I talk to _who_?"

"Your girlfriend, dude. Do you talk to 'Anna' like that? 'Cause if – "

" _Anna_?! Anna is – "

"Your mom told me, dude. She's your girlfriend."

"She is _not_ my fucking girlfriend!" Patrick virtually yelled, and fuck, was he going to have something to say to his mom when he got home. "Anna is not my girlfriend, okay? We went on one date – ONE! – and she told me... she said. She said stuff that's really not important right now. But she is _not_ my girlfriend! I've never had a fucking girlfriend, you dick!"

Someone inside the kitchen called out, "LOSER!" and Patrick quickly ushered Joe towards the steps. 

"Get down there – away from the house."

"Your mom – "

"My mom is talking bullshit, Joe! I don't have a girlfriend, okay? I don't. have. a. girlfriend. Okay?"

"But – "

"I have a friend, who is a girl, who I hung out with a lot when... y'know. When you weren't around. We're _not_ fucking dating."

Joe swallowed a few times and seemed to have trouble reconciling this idea with whatever information he thought he already had. "Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh'."

Carefully, Joe studied the grass at his feet and sat down in the middle of the lawn, hunched over crossed legs. Patrick just sighed and joined him, bumping their knees together slightly.

"So, I guess you've been mad at me for hiding stuff I wasn't hiding, huh?"

Joe gave a soft laugh and shook his head. 

"Well, I'm glad you find it funny, dude."

"I don't. It's just like, fucking stupid, dude... I can't even... This is just so not going to work."

"What won't?"

"This, dude. Me and you... I hate everyone you know, and you hate all my friends..."

"I don't hate – "

"You fucking hate Pete. It's like you're walking around wearing a shirt that says, like, 'I hate Pete' or something, dude."

"Wow. That would be a real imaginative shirt."

Joe laughed a little and slumped back onto the grass. Patrick leaned back and propped himself on his elbows.

"Pete asked me to go on tour with them," Joe announced suddenly. "Chris has to work..."

"Oh. That's um... that's cool."

"I guess so."

"You guess?"

"I feel like I might come back and not have a best friend again."

"What the fuck?" Patrick rolled over and looked down at him. "Why -?"

"It was a long time, dude. Like, we only just started talking again, and like... y'know... things are still kind of weird and stuff..."

It actually hurt Patrick a little to hear that; how could Joe honestly think that he could go away for a few weeks and Patrick would forget him in the meantime? "I'm not the one going away with all the cool dudes on the scene."

"No, but there's some girl you spend all this time with so your mom thinks you're dating..."

"She asked if I was dating you, once."

Joe looked up at him, with his eyes wide. "You're bullshitting me."

"Nope. It was just after... y'know. When you told me."

"Oh."

"Yeah..." Patrick nodded slowly.

"So what did you say, man?"

"I told her to mind her own fucking business."

"Your _mom_?!"

"Ended up grounded for two weeks. And I had to tell her 'no', anyway," he shrugged. "But it wasn't her business. And y'know... I don't think I ever forgave her for siding with Mrs Watson. I was mad at her. Really, really pissed off, actually."

"But you cursed at your mom, man. That's like... I figured she'd ground you until you were forty-five or something."

Patrick laughed. "She figured I was upset about the fight and let me out after two days."

\---

Andy was leaning on the edge of the open window, peering out into the garden, when Pete came over.

"Hey, man, you okay?"

"Yeah," Andy nodded, not looking away. "Joe and Patrick... they've been out there or over an hour. Do you know if things are okay? It kind of sounded a little pissy, earlier..."

"They're talking. That's all I know, kind of."

Andy just nodded and kept watching.

Pete snickered. "Wait right there and I'll bring you some popcorn or something."

\---

Joe couldn't remember when Patrick's head had ended up on his shoulder, but he thought it was around the time he said he'd spent most of the last year sitting in his room, practicing his guitar skills and playing video games. He didn't mind, anyway. He liked having him this close again, sleepy and comfortable on the grass. Patrick's hair smelled of baby shampoo like his mom used to use on Sam. It made him smile and pet his bangs absently as he listened to him.

He felt like his hand was going to be slapped away at some point, but it wasn't. Patrick just caught it and pulled it away from his face, holding on to it so it couldn't return to his hair. Joe just pressed his fingers through Patrick's and bumped their joined hands repetitively against his chest.

They'd been laying there a long time; at least he thought so. He was beginning to feel slightly affected by the beer, and laying on their backs, watching the lights of the planes flying in and out of the city was weirdly peaceful. He kind of wondered where everyone was going.

"Joe?"

"Hmmph?"

"Just checking you're awake."

Joe laughed gently and rolled over slightly to wrap the arm Patrick wasn't lying on around him. "Still awake," he confirmed.

"Good, because... I'm kind of not done talking."

"We're cool, though."

"Yeah," Patrick said, and he smiled. "We're cool."

"So, what do you want to say?" Looking at Patrick's eyes as he blinked slowly, Joe couldn't help smiling; or leaning in and nuzzling his cheek affectionately. He was so fucking cute.

"I need to take back some stuff I said."

"Like what? The Cure are better than The Smiths? Because if you were gonna retract that, you'd be right. Finally."

Patrick's only answer was to shift slightly and kiss him on the lips.

\---

"Pete! _Pete_!"

"What, man?"

Pete peered over Andy's shoulder and looked down into the garden below. An enormous grin spread across his face and he slapped Andy on the shoulder happily.

"That's awesome, dude. But now this is approaching voyeurism, kind of." He grabbed him by both shoulders and directed him toward the kitchen for a celebratory Mountain Dew.

\---

Patrick was grinning when he pulled back and looked up into Joe's wide and bewildered eyes.

"Did I, y'know, get everything, or was there some bitchy comment I missed?"

Joe just continued to stare at him.

"Earth to Major Troh?"

"Patrick... dude..."

"You're not freaked out, are you, man?" Patrick began, starting to worry – starting to think he'd judged things all wrong.

Joe shook his head unsteadily and lifted a hand to touch Patrick's face apprehensively. "Is this, like... the way we were or whatever, man, 'cause – "

"Hmm... yes and no. I'm hoping more 'yes' than 'no'."

"In... in a friends way, or...?"

"Right now, I don't know, dude... I'm feeling pretty gay..." he laughed nervously.

"You -?"

"Look, man. I've been... there's stuff that I looked back on, recently, y'know... we said that we were gonna grow up and live in a house with no girls or parents, and I still want to do that."

Joe chuckled softly and pressed his forehead to Patrick's neck.

"And y'know: you're not so bad at the whole kissing thing... and you're kind of hot, I _guess_... could be worse..." Feeling Joe laughing again his shirt, Patrick smiled and kissed his hair. "I mean... for years you were kind of. Um. I thought about you a lot, y'know?"

"Really?"

"I've been in denial so long I'm surprised I didn't drown, dude."

"I don't... what are we _doing_ , dude?"

Patrick hooked one of his legs behind Joe's and leaned in so that their noses bumped together gently. "Making up for wasted time."

Breathlessly, Joe ducked forward and kissed him again, whispering, "That's kind of a lot to make up."

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, ignoring their cat-calling audience on the decking as he kissed him softly on the lips, "I mean – I'm not about to say, 'Hey, dude, bend over' or anything, but... I don't want to ever... y'know. Ever have another year like the last one."

"Me either, man, but I don't want you to force yourself or anything – that's like... the worst that could happen..."

"Hey!" Patrick grumbled, slapping his shoulder. "I'm making declarations of love, dude, you could at least pretend to be convinced."

\---

Pete looked up at Andy, sitting on his riser at the back of the stage, which seemed like half a mile away at a show this big, and nodded before turning back and grasping his mic.

"So, right now, because it's Valentine's Day, and I know everyone's feeling a little bit romantical and stuff... I want to tell you a story," he said, grinning and the deafening whoops and screams from the girls in front of him. He glanced over at Patrick, who was frowning slightly – oh, did that kid have a surprise coming! "You want to hear a love story?"

"YEEEEEEAH!!" (Or, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEERGHMARRYMEPEEEEETE!!", but he was learning to translate after ten years.)

"Cool, 'cause I'm gonna tell you whether you care or not, kind of."

Joe was laughing, across the stage, looking baffled.

"So, yeah – once upon a time, there were these two kids. You'll figure out their names in a couple of seconds. And these kids, they met one day in kindergarten – " he paused to look at the other two while the kids, who all had the Blue Crayon story memorised, he was pretty sure, yelled a little more. "And these kids – these two boys – they grew up... sent each other Valentines cards that weirded out the other kids... started touching each other inappropriately..."

The kids laughed and Patrick raised a hand, pretending he was going to smack Pete in the face. Instead, he walked over and leaned on Joe's shoulder, who patted him on the head.

"And the thing is, these two kids... well, they grew up a little more – not a whole fucking lot, though, seriously – and okay, I want everyone to put their hands in the air... you too! Put 'em up! Okay. And I want you to put your thumb and forefinger together like this, so you're making a heart, kind of. Okay?"

Patrick was blushing and had wandered to the back of the stage and was looking at the drum riser. He whirled around abruptly, looking at Andy as he grinned down from where he stood behind his kit, a pink cupcake in each hand, just in time for Pete to say:

"This is 'I Bought A Fucking House With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was Twenty Cupcakes Smashed In My Face...'"

The screaming – and the sugared splatters of cupcakes flying across the stage – turned the whole thing into bedlam; in the middle of it all, though, Pete grinned up at Andy and laughed as Joe grabbed Patrick and licked frosting off his face.


End file.
